The Shards Of His Beloved
by EvilConcubine
Summary: His parents were murdered, he's lost his child and, after hiding for several years, he's returned to the world that has changed more than he expected. Now it's either Azkaban or slavery. Mentions of mpreg, some self-harm, a lot of angst.
1. Your Downfall

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

All right, this is my new story. I hope you've read the summary and all the warnings.

I'm not a native speaker (it hasn't changed since my previous story ;) ), so please be nice about my mistakes and try to enjoy reading, anyway.

Once again: a lot of ANGST.

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**Attention: This story has been edited to avoid any problems with MA content. If you're 18 or older, you can find the full version of this story on adult fanfiction. net. I'm also planning to post it on LJ. **

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_**The Shards of His Beloved**_

_**1. Your Downfall**_

~*O*~

Malfoys had been hiding from the law for about four years after the Dark Lord had been destroyed. One of the family estates in the north of France had been serving them as a good sanctuary for these years of hiding, because no one else knew about its existence. It had never been mentioned in any documents; there were no files about it in the Ministry archives. During the time of hiding Lucius only contacted his lawyers to whom he trusted, but not enough to inform about the location of his safe house, so they only met on neutral territory; and Lucius was heavily disguised during all the appointments. They were trying to find a way to return his family to Britain, but only if they were assured that both Draco and Narcissa wouldn't be charged. The lawyers were well-paid, and under the Unbreakable Vow they wouldn't be able to give out their clients. But they never brought any good news. Draco and Narcissa were going to be put in Azkaban, at any rate; the current government would take care of it. So they kept hiding. Lucius realised and was resigned to the thought that nothing could save him from prison, but he was protecting his family, trying to make up for all the horrors they had endured because of his fatal mistakes. He owed them. He had practically ruined his son's childhood and deprived him of his future as an heir of once powerful family. Even though Lucius had been a long-time supporter of the Dark Lord, he'd never really wanted his son to be involved; not that young, not like that, not threatened and intimidated half to death and forced to take the Dark Mark while Lucius had been in Azkaban. It was then that he'd returned to his family he had realised what he'd got them and himself into, as he'd found out what had happened in his absence and seen his heir numb with fear after everything he'd had to go through. And even being home after his escape from Azkaban he'd failed to protect his son. Draco had endured and seen too much... Now they all were no more than fugitive criminals, even if Narcissa and Draco were just victims of the circumstances. And Lucius always remembered that if his family was imprisoned, his grandson would lose everyone and wouldn't have anyone to take care of him, and that was too much of an ordeal for someone this little.

~*O*~

Everything changed when one day they were finally found. No matter how they had been trying to be ready for everything for these years, the attack still felt like a bolt from the blue. The auror captain, who was in charge with the operation, was a muggleborn, who had lost his brother during the war, because the Death Eaters had killed him, so he wasn't determined to arrest Malfoys; they had to die. He and his men, making sure that no one would see, except for those who had been let in the plan, killed Lucius and Narcissa that both had even surrendered their wands, ready to be arrested.

Draco saw it all, hidden behind one of the large framed paintings in the living room in the small alcove, where his parents had hidden him and their grandson just before the aurors had broken in. He saw their deaths through the tiny hole in the painting. And even though he wanted to scream in grief and terror at the horrifying show he'd just witnessed, he remembered about the child in his arms, whose small face was pressed against his shoulder. When the group of murderers dressed in auror uniforms had divided into pairs in order to search the house and find Draco, undoubtedly, to kill him, too, he just disapparated, using the unique portkey that had always been on his neck for the past years in hiding. Lucius had once given Draco this incredibly powerful item, - the heavy, silver pendant, decorated with runes. It was so powerful that even the anti-apparition wards used by aurors couldn't prevent it from working. The apparition itself was also hardly possible to trace, so, using it, Draco had successfully escaped with his son.

His mother had always been ready for them to be found (at least, she'd tried to be ready), so she'd given Draco the small leather pouch that had been shrunk with the spell; it contained some Draco's and his boy's clothes, along with money, food, toiletries and other necessary things. With those he and his son had apparated to the place that the spell considered as a safe one. Draco disagreed with its choice, as he found himself in the middle of some forest. It was January and in was very cold. Somewhere far away he could hear the howling of wolves, so he wasn't feeling safe at all. In the pouch he found his very long and warm fur trimmed suede cloak. He also found the fur muff to hide his hands into it. Fortunately, there were enough warm clothes for his son, too; the boy was currently dressed only in his silk nightshirt. As Draco dressed first his shaking son and then himself, he pressed the child to his chest inside his cloak to give his little boy as much warmth as he could. But he always held his wand in one of his hands, ready to fight the wolves or any other threat. Scorpius was trembling and crying quietly, obviously feeling that something was wrong and something terrible had happened, but Draco was too shocked himself to provide him with more comfort than the warmth that his body could give. The little child wasn't even asking anything; he was just pressing his small blond head to father's chest, searching for more protection. Draco was shaken, dizzy and aggrieved. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing deaths of the people he loved and leaving their dead bodies behind, running away, not to repeat their tragic fate.

The ground of the winter forest was covered with the thick layer of slightly sparkling snow, and Draco was sinking into it to his very knees or even deeper at times. It was very hard to walk, but the fear of being attacked by the wolves or tracked by the aurors (the latter was unlikely, but still possible) made him move without stopping. The portkey he'd used had been enchanted to bring the one who used it to safety, so Draco was following the faint sphere of pulsing silver light that led him somewhere, stopping and floating in the air, patiently waiting for Draco every time he was more than five metres behind it. He could swear he faintly saw some faces inside the sphere. As Draco once turned round, he also discovered that the magic was covering his tracks and the snow behind him was gradually returning to its previous condition, as if never disturbed by him. What a good and useful magical item that unique portkey (now destroyed after being used) had been, but, unfortunately, it could only transfer two people at best, otherwise, his parents would've been... He didn't give his tears a chance to escape, because his little boy was already too scared, and Draco had to hold on for him.

Eventually, when he was almost ready to give up and fall because of the fatigue, the silver sphere brought him to the house in the middle of the forest and vanished, because the magic had fulfilled its predestination, bringing its charge to the place suitable for hiding without being tracked. Before entering Draco only cast one glance at the house, too tired and scared to show more cautiousness than casting a couple of simple spells that could reveal some magical traps. He found none and easily unlocked the double-wing entrance door.

He decided that the stone building had once been quite decent, and now it was nothing but a decaying luxury. In one of the fifteen rooms Draco found the old skeleton of the owner of this place (at, least, Draco decided that it had once been one), sitting in the armchair. It took him a lot to suppress the urge to cry out in fear and disgust. Making sure his little son hadn't seen the frightening discovery, Draco locked the room with all the charms he knew and warded it, just in case.

There was the fireplace in one of the more or less decent bedrooms, so Draco set the fire and soon the room seemed warm enough for him to take off his suede cloak. The room was large and would be more comfortable once he cleaned it. He gently rocked the child to sleep and it had taken time to calm him down in this unfamiliar, dark house, not to mention the shocking events that had happened earlier. Draco magically cleaned the king size bed from all the dust, warmed it with spell and put his Scorpius on it, wrapped up in the blanket he'd found in his pouch. Quietly, as quite as he could, Draco let himself mourn his parents. They shouldn't have died like that. They shouldn't have died... The bitter tears didn't stop for hours; not only this night, but the next several nights when his little boy was fast asleep and couldn't see and hear his father practically choking on his tears. Sometimes Scorpius asked where his grandmother and grandfather were, but Draco just couldn't find heart to tell the truth to the boy, who was a little more than three years old.

~*O*~

There was nothing else he could do but settle down in this house. At first it was quite a scary place to live, because it was so deep in the forest, because the old building produced the unpleasantly odd sounds, especially during the nights, and because some animals could often be heard, as they were wandering somewhere close enough. But Draco and his son had nowhere else to go. Their food was going to run out sooner or later, and Draco would have to find a way to purchase more, which meant blindly travelling on foot in the dark forest to try to find some village where he could buy things, including food. But he didn't know the place at all and hadn't found any maps of it in the library, so at first he had absolutely no idea where they were. Judging by the language of the majority of the books in the library, they were somewhere in Russia, but, knowing only Russian alphabet, several expressions and three or four dozens of words was hardly helpful in reading the books properly. It was a pity, because they looked quite old and were probably interesting, and, as he could easily assume, some were books on the Dark Arts, healing and potions. There were several books in Greek, which he didn't speak, either, and, fortunately, several books in Latin, which Draco knew quite well, but sadly these books were merely some not very exciting novels. But... beggars couldn't be choosers, could they? Later he found a lot of herbaria: about twenty albums, full of dried flowers, herbs and leaves, including rare magical species. There were also albums full of photographs. Mostly they showed nature and there were pictures of animals, to Scorpius' delight. They were looking through them together and it wasn't a bad pastime at all, especially given that they didn't have many things to do. In the end, they found the albums with family photographs of the people who had lived in this house before. Draco knew it wasn't right to go through such private things; he hoped no one did it to his family albums in the Manor, whatever had happened to Malfoy Manor, anyway. But the curiosity had taken better of him, so by those pictures he thought he'd learned a lot about the owners of this house. It seemed the last owner (whose skeleton, he assumed, was locked in one of the rooms) had been the last one of his bloodline. It was sad that the man had died alone, having nobody even to bury him. Draco didn't like to think about that skeleton; being under the same roof with it made him feel a bit uneasy. But he respected the dead owner's house and always put the things he or Scorpius took on the same place, where they belonged.

The portkey had, indeed, transferred them far away from home. On the one hand, this fact made him feel more secure; on the other hand, he didn't know how to get food when they wouldn't have any.

Only once, a month after their arrival, he left the house, just to look around. The weather wasn't very harsh and his warm suede cloak and the fur muff withstood the frost, keeping Draco warm. There was no harsh wind, and the sky powdered the white land with the very light snow. Draco found the frozen lake quite close to the house, surrounded by spruces, almost white with snow. It was a beautiful place, in fact; if only the circumstances were different, Draco would have really enjoyed spending some time here. He was forced to return to the house, as he heard the annoying howling of the wolves, not quite close to him, but it was still discouraging. How on earth was he going to look for some settlement if he couldn't even walk away from the house far enough to stop seeing it? If something happened to him in the forest, his little Scorpius would stay alone and die from hunger... The mere thought of it stopped Draco's heart. He loved his son more than anything in this world, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for his little child, the little extension of himself that looked shockingly identical to Draco when he'd been a small child. Scorpius was his little copy. He was all Draco had...

Sometimes Draco and Scorpius were going outside, but they always kept close to the house. Scorpius was quite fond of building some simple snow sculptures, which weren't masterpieces, of course, but were quite exciting to make. Unfortunately, there weren't many things to entertain the child in their current situation, since he didn't even have his toys, or anything resembling toys at all, except for the old and expensive looking magical kaleidoscope they'd found in the house.

One day, however, the boy's mood was ecstatic when he saw something big, glowing brightly on the branch of the birch near the house. He alerted Draco and they went outside to see what it was. When they carefully approached the tree, they saw the firebird, whose feathers were glowing with orange, yellow and red light, very bright theoretically, but, since it was also a bright day, it was hard to properly enjoy all the beauty of the amazing magical creature, so rare even here, in its native lands. Draco had only seen it on the pictures before. It looked a lot like a peacock, but it never spread its long, beautiful tail, unlike peacocks; and it was bigger. He was keeping a safe distance from the bird, holding his son in his arms, but was ready to use his wand in case the seemingly relaxed bird decided to attack, even though he hardly imagined how to fight it, because the books described firebirds as extremely challenging and deadly creatures if angered, so it would be much wiser to run to the house and hide inside if anything happened. He remembered reading that its feathers could illuminate even the darkest places, tainted by the darkest magic, and kill, or, at least, chase away some creatures that tended to hide in the shadows. It could even hurt vampires, like sunlight, without killing them, though. Its local name was _'Zhar-Ptitsa'_. Scorpius was intrigued by the stories his father told him about the magical bird. Papa was so clever; he knew absolutely everything! The boy asked him to catch the bird, so it could live with them. Draco chuckled and explained that it was dangerous to upset such creatures and it was very difficult to catch them, anyway, let alone keep them in captivity. The bird was looking down, tilting its head, as if listening to them talking, but then it suddenly swished its long beautiful tail proudly, leaving the afterglow, and flew away to Scorpius' dismay. The encounter with something that rare was, of course, a remarkable event.

But, all in all, it was boring to live alone in the forest. However, it was also very peaceful, and Draco was thankful for it. Less and less often Scorpius asked about his grandparents, because he failed to get any information from his father, who carefully changed the subject every time or was just very evasive. Scorpius was too little to properly corner his father and demand explanations, without buying the unconvincing, confusing answers. Draco just wasn't ready to tell him the truth, yet. He needed time to come to terms with it before telling his little boy. He still mourned, still saw their deaths in his mind over and over again.

They had less and less food and Draco doubted that they would make it to the middle of spring. He never deprived his son of good, nutritious food, and he never would've done it no matter what, but he'd already reduced his own food allowance. He knew he didn't have much time to form the plan, so he was thinking a lot about the possible ways of solving the problem without letting them be found.

~*O*~

But it appeared, it wasn't necessary, anyway, because only two months after his escape and the cruel murder of his parents, he was found and surrounded by the aurors. They easily got past the wards Draco had created, without even alarming him, and silently infiltrated the house while Draco and his son were sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of what was going on. As the lock on the door of the bedroom was broken, Draco woke up with a start at the noise. Instinctively he took his sleepy boy in his protective arms, holding his wand at the same time. When the group of eight aurors broke in and practically surrounded him, he was told to give them his wand. And he did, afraid for Scorpius and himself to be hurt and refusing to provoke any kind of violence. There was no escape this time, no unique portkeys; nothing. Scorpius started to cry quietly in Draco's arms, and father was rubbing his back soothingly, securely pressing him against his chest. Were they going to kill Draco, too, as they'd killed his parents? Were they going to spare his child? Draco could no longer decide if his life was real or a nightmare. He didn't know what to think anymore. He was so tired of hiding... But he was also afraid of death and hoped that Scorpius, at least, wouldn't witness them killing his Papa. He gently caressed the soft blond hair on the back of the small head, hushing his little one quietly and gently. The aging and skinny dark-haired woman, dressed in auror robes, came closer and reached out her hands to Scorpius. The boy desperately clung to his father, who, at the same time, held him tighter and made a step back, to prevent some bitch from reaching out her ugly, bony fingers to _**his son**_! His heart was beating madly and he had a very bad feeling about all of it.

"Give me the child. You're deprived of your parental rights," the bitch stated, giving herself airs. He looked back at her with disdain, and tried not to let her take his boy from him, he even slapped her hand away; but he immediately was hit with the curse that for a couple of seconds paralysed him. It was enough for the bitch to snatch his crying son out of his arms. The little boy shrieked and started to emit the loud, frightened cries that were breaking the heart of his father.

"No... You can't take him away. He's my son," Draco shook his head nervously, trying not to start wailing, too, because Scorpius was already scared very much and Draco didn't want to terrify him even more. As scared as Draco was himself, he couldn't let it happen.

"On your knees, Malfoy!" one of the aurors ordered him. Draco obeyed. "Take the child away," the auror said to his female colleague. Draco's heart sank. He wanted to lash out at someone, but he knew it would've been suicidal. He tried his best to look calm, even if he wasn't nearly as calm as he tried to appear.

"Scorpius, don't be afraid. Please. I'll find you and we'll be together again. It'll be over soon. Don't be afraid," he tried to soothe the child, nearly crying, but trying to keep the fervent trembling out of his voice. Oh, gods, they'd killed his parents, they were probably going to kill him, too, but what would they do to his baby?

"I wouldn't promise anything like this. You're going to Azkaban," some male auror said, though Draco couldn't tell who exactly, looking only at his boy, who looked heartbreakingly scared. As the woman that was holding him in her arms started to move to the door, Scorpius slapped her face with his small hand and tried to tear himself away. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, now absolutely terrified because of what was happening. He was almost three and a half years old, so he was perfectly aware that some strangers were separating him from his father.

"Papa! I want to Papa!" the child screamed. He was restrained, as the woman held him tighter, pressing his arms to his body at the same time, so he wouldn't get a chance to slap her face again. He failed to wriggle out of her arms. Only when Scorpius had been taken away, Draco let his bitter tears escape, because the boy couldn't see it any longer. He wept, hearing his piercingly crying son in the corridor. The noise full of distress was retreating gradually, becoming less and less loud, as the child was taken farther and farther away from him. He could very well imagine how scared Scorpius was, being born when Malfoys had been in hiding and never being with any other people except for his family, never being away from his father, never even seeing the other people this close. If his family hadn't educated him and showed him a lot of pictures of the other people, Scorpius wouldn't have even known that anyone else existed in this world, besides his grandparents and father. And now he was being taken away by some stranger!

"Please, just don't hurt him..." Draco begged, weeping inconsolably and sitting on his knees with his head bowed in complete submission.

"We do not hurt children. We aren't some Death Eater scum, after all," one of them sighed with annoyance.

"He's scared without me. Please... He doesn't know any strangers..." he tried again, but the same man interrupted him.

"He'll be taken care of. Good for him; he must be socialised and stop roaming with a criminal like you."

"You've made us travel the long way, Malfoy. Get dressed and thank Merlin that I'm in high spirits today, or you would've been hexed in front of your son and dragged away like a sack of rags," the man, who was probably their captain, said. His voice and his appearance seemed powerful, in spite of his age; he was older than everyone in the room. At least, it was obvious that he was in charge here, so Draco mentally called him captain. These were the different aurors; none of them had been among those who'd killed Draco's parents, he was sure about it.

With the tears, still falling from his eyes or rolling down his cheeks, he started to pack his things carefully, making no sudden movements, because he knew that some of them would gladly hex him the moment they saw anything threatening.

"My son's clothes..." he said quietly.

"I'm sure he'll get the other clothes. Pack only your things and hurry up; we don't have all day," the captain rolled his eyes. The blond complied and finished packing. In the end, he took Scorpius' framed photograph with him, the one he'd found in this very same pouch, as Narcissa had put it there for some reason or, probably, accidentally. He hadn't taken many things, in fact, doubting that he would be allowed or even need some other things in prison.

When in his thoughts he'd imagined himself being captured by the aurors (certainly without looking forward to it), he'd imagined himself holding his head high with dignity and cold, calm demeanour. But, of course, the reality was very different and Draco kept weeping, shaking like an aspen leaf and hurting over his son.

"Morgana's breasts... Have you finished packing, yet?" the captain sighed impatiently, but not spitefully. Draco only managed to nod. The captain spelled shackles on the wrists and ankles of the imprisoned young man and softly urged him to move towards the exit. The restraints felt cold against Draco's skin, and being quite heavy they slowed him down, but, of course, that was the point. The heavy chains were clanking, as he was moving.

Once outside, he looked around, hoping to see his boy again, but the bitch had obviously already disapparated with him. Two Aurors took Draco's arms firmly, and they apparated, too. The apparition was very unpleasant, because they had to cover quite a large distance. They found themselves in front of the auror department, and two aurors allowed themselves and their prisoner a couple of minutes to get their breath back and let the dizziness abate.

And then he was led inside the building. Like in a bad dream he was undergoing a lot of 'standard procedures', only doing what was told without any arguing, but hardly participating in it consciously. They thoroughly scanned him with spells to make sure he wasn't able to perform any kind of wandless magic; they searched him to make sure he didn't have anything he could use as a weapon. They took his front-view and side-view pictures while his slightly trembling hands were holding the placard with his identification number and full name. All the things from his pouch were scanned and scrutinised before taken away for the temporary retention. And then, when it was finally over, Draco was brought to the solitary holding cell and finally unshackled. Left alone, he for some time was standing near the heavy door with the little barred window, looking at the interior of his cell blindly and dully. The bed, attached to the wall, had the mattress, covered with sheet, the pillow and the light blanket; all of it looked surprisingly clean in contrast with everything else here. But it wasn't Azkaban and this cell was only meant to contain prisoners before their trials, so it meant to have bearable conditions for those who still weren't condemned. But Draco knew he was actually going to be sentenced to Azkaban, only wondering if he was going to have a trial at all. They had promised to contact his family lawyers, but his hope was thin.

He sat down on the hard bed and tried to think about everything that had happened during the last several hours, but his mind was still in denial. He'd become so accustomed to the deceptive feeling of safety, whilst living with his family, so now he just couldn't believe that things had become this horrible. He'd been hiding with people he loved and had felt safe with them, because they had seemed so strong and canny, capable of solving any problem and protecting him, like he'd been protecting his own child. But now he was alone and had absolutely no one to turn to. All the people he'd loved were dead, except for his son who had been taken away. Draco prayed the gods that his boy was alive and safe. The wave of despair washed over him, as he thought that he would never be able to see his child again. They'd never been away from each other. It felt wrong, so terribly unfair and wrong!

~*O*~

In this small cell he was going insane from worry and couldn't sleep for the first two nights, only napping sometimes when his body and mind couldn't stand it all any longer. He was hardly eating. The only person he saw these days was the one who brought Draco his meal, but the man wasn't speaking to him at all, absolutely ignoring him, actually. Not that he could help, anyway. Without opening the door he just spelled the tray with food on the stone floor inside the cell with the move of his wand, and left. And during every next mealtime he just replaced the tray with the new one, paying no attention to the fact that Draco's food was hardly ever touched.

Since the third day of imprisonment Draco had become apathetic and was hardly getting up from the bed, extremely exhausted with worry, lack of sleep and food. But then, on the fifth day he was allowed to use the shower under the supervision of two guards. Later this day one of the family lawyers finally visited him. They were allowed to talk through the door, seeing each other through the little barred window. Prospero Atrax was a tall old man with only a couple of dark strands of hair on his otherwise grey head. His hair wasn't long, but it was long enough to be gathered into a short ponytail and tied with a leather ribbon. He had a narrow face, grey goatee on his chin and blue eyes that seemed to notice everything. Draco had only seen him once when the man had had less wrinkles and less grey hair. He said that the date of his trial was in a month and a half and it was the best he'd managed to achieve.

"And how do you assess my situation? Can you make any forecasts?" Draco asked. The lawyer sighed and looked aside. It told Draco a lot and he practically felt all his hopes flying out through the barred window.

"I'm very sorry, Mister Malfoy, but, I'm afraid, we won't be able to win. The Ministry wants a show trial. At first the authorities are going to inflame the minds of the public against you, more than they already are, and then they'll show the people how they 'punish those who followed you-know-who'. I know you're not to blame for your father, but they want your blood. They'll fight for fifteen years in Azkaban, eight, at the very least... I'm doing my best, but you know how this world has changed since the end of the war. People are not kind to the purebloods these days. They even replaced all pureblood members of the Wizengamot 'to open the door for the changes this world needs', as they explain that farce," Atrax shook his head. Draco was as pale as a ghost, but nodded, and they were silent for a minute. _'Fifteen years... Even if eight years; for Azkaban it's as good as a death sentence. It's a sure death...'_ Draco's hazy mind concluded.

"...My son?" he asked quietly.

"He's in an orphanage. They refused to give me any information in which one they'd put him. I'll try to collect more information through my men," the lawyer replied.

When the man left, Draco was shaking, but couldn't even cry after everything he'd just heard. He was going to die in Azkaban after a few torturous years there, maybe even less than a few. And he would never see his little boy again. He suddenly felt unbearably cold.

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**Please, review!**


	2. The Price of Your Body

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story._**

Slashie, CE Lyn, Aquarinus, gray tabby, Vampira612, Tsume Daitaro, dominygringa, lettersfromhedwig, Paper Angels, LeStrange, thanks for your wonderful reviews, my dears!

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Please, enjoy the next one (I hope you've read the warnings in the summary. If you haven't, it's about time).

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_**2. The Price of Your Body**_

~*O*~

More days had passed; the days became weeks. Everything was the same day after day. Several times Prospero Atrax visited him again, sometimes accompanied by the other lawyer, but no matter what they told Draco about doing their best, by their very appearances, their demeanour, he could clearly see that nothing they did would save him during his trial. They'd already lost and Draco was already considered guilty, because he was merely an instrument for the Ministry to keep the votes of the electors by giving them what they wanted and _**making**_ them want it in case some of them didn't care enough about punishing 'the enemy of the entire wizarding society'. He was the son of Lucius Malfoy; he was deprived of any justice beforehand. He could only imagine what the papers were doing to his name, but, _**fortunately**_, he didn't have an access to them.

~*O*~

The last several nights he couldn't stop feeling that someone was sometimes watching him through the little window of his door while he was sleeping, simply because a couple of times he woke up with a start for some unknown reason and immediately heard the retreating footsteps in the corridor. It could be just a guard, making a round, of course, and Draco was probably being paranoid, since his nerves were overstrained, so he fought the uneasiness, finding no explanation for it...

Until one night... Until one night when he was sleeping soundly and didn't hear as someone entered the cell after putting the silencing spell on the door to prevent it from making any noise while being unlocked and opened, and then closed again when some individual was already inside. Draco only woke up when through his sleep he suddenly felt something very heavy on his back, pressing him hard down to the bed, and the air was literally squeezed out of his lungs. The weight was warm, it slightly shifted, and it only took a couple of seconds for Draco to realise that it was a man lying on top of him, leaning all his weight upon Draco's definitely smaller body. The panic kicked in and any remains of his sleep were gone. As he tried to turn his face and see the person behind him, a hand grabbed the hair on the back of his head and his face was forcefully pressed into the pillow. He cried out into it and started to squirm.

"You sleep too well for a criminal," he heard the quiet and slightly hoarse voice against his ear. Draco became rigid, feeling something sharp and cold against his thigh even through his trousers. Was it the tip of a knife? He was going to be killed...

"If you try to turn your pretty face to me, I'll stab you," the stranger threatened. Draco would have started to hyperventilate in panic, but he couldn't inhale, because his face was still pressed into the pillow firmly. He started to feel dizzy from the lack of air. The suffocation and fear made him squirm again, despite the knife, but the man wasn't going to let go until Draco listened to what he wanted to say. "Be a good boy and keep your beautiful eyes away from me. Not that I think anyone's going to investigate it, but I wouldn't want you to see my face and I won't use any magic on you. I'm just going to have a bit of fun and leave. Don't bother to scream; no one's going to hear you, anyway; even the guard. A couple of Galleons has deafened him, you see... I hope you're worth it," he finished. Only then he pulled the blonde's head back by his hair. Draco inhaled sharply and coughed, trying to get his breathing back to normal, to think and to control the damned panic that made him helpless. He failed to swallow down the lump in his throat. What 'to have a bit of fun' meant he knew very well from his personal, very deplorable experience. _'Oh, gods, no. Please, don't let it happen again. Please, let it be just another bad dream. I won't survive it again...'_ But what could he possibly do? Lying on his stomach, pinned down and wandless, he didn't have many options. The bribed guard wouldn't react if Draco screamed, but there was a possibility that someone else would hear. There were other prisoners somewhere around. What if someone would call the other guard or anyone else? Fuck... Someone just had to hear and help. When the man's hands started to feel him up under his shirt, Draco's scream wasn't even intentional; it just tore out of his throat and didn't stop until his face was shoved into the pillow again. The persistent hand brusquely pulled his shirt up to his shoulder blades and kept touching, squeezing and rubbing his back, sides and even snaked under his body to touch his chest and stomach. Several times the bastard pulled his head back, letting Draco breath for several seconds before pushing his face down into the pillow again. It didn't leave the blond any opportunity to produce something as loud as a scream; instead something pathetic was coming out of his mouth, such as whimpering and wheezing. He tried to shy away from all the unwanted touching, refusing to believe that he was powerless to stop it all. He tried to figure out where the knife was, but he knew that even if he had it, his position wouldn't let him perform a successful attack. The man sounded very pleased with himself, his breathing sounded aroused and through the clothes Draco felt the erection rubbing against his buttocks; he was unable to recoil from it. Too panicked to comprehend everything that was going on, he missed the moment when the hand found its way under him again and unbuttoned his trousers. He became still for a moment, as he realised that the man was about to take his trousers off, and then doubled his efforts to tear himself away, writhing violently. He screamed...

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**A/N:** Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I've deleted this part of the story, because I suspect it's rather MA rated. If you are 18 or older, make sure you read the entire chapter, following the link, because the story is incomplete without it:

http (colon) (double slash) hp. adult fanfiction. net (slash) story. php ? no (equals sign) 600095692 (ampersand) chapter (equals sign) 2

If you're not 18 years old yet, don't...

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...And then he just slowly lay down again and turned away, facing the stone wall absently. He was still shaking slightly, breathing spasmodically, still emitted hiccups and quiet wails. He knew that the tormentor was still here, looking at him, already fully dressed; possibly admiring his handiwork, which the broken, ravished young man was.

"Don't bother complaining about it to anybody," the man said calmly when he was satisfied with his observation. "People would believe _**me**_, not you; and I could easily make them see what a whore you are. It's not me who they consider a reprobate, it's you, so let it be our little secret for your own good. You know, people say you're good for nothing; now I know they are wrong. I'd send you flowers, but I think I'll better put some on your grave when you die in Azkaban. I don't suppose such sweet little pureblood boys live long there." And then he left.

It took Draco more than an hour to calm down. He managed to cover his aching body with blanket and turn on his other side, but could do nothing more than that. He was in prostration, hardly here in his cell, but couldn't sleep. Part of him, a small part that could still think and feel, was afraid that the rapist would return and take him unawares again. Eventually, in the morning, he didn't fall asleep, he just sunk into the darkness...

~*O*~

This morning Hermione was still working hard after the sleepless night. The stress was her common attendant nowadays, since she was fighting for human lives and human rights; though it wasn't the only reason of her often depressed mood. The guilt was still eating her alive...

After the war she'd started to work for the Ministry. Among her many ideas still had been the noble intention to free the little creatures. Why, oh why, had she been that obsessed with the idea of freeing the house elves? She'd been destined to find out the real meaning of the expression: 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'. The new Ministry, that had only been forming at that period, had agreed with her in many things, including this one, they'd said that the house elves were the vestige of the past. And the new Ministry enthusiastically did away with what they considered as the vestiges of the past. Many had supported her, because she was Harry Potter's friend, because she was clever and because she'd helped to convince everyone that the world needed changes. She had realised her mistake later, when it was too late. For the unknown reason, many freed elves, including Kreacher, had died to her terror. No one knew what had really happened to them. They'd just faded away, not unlike the aging humans, only more swiftly, and quietly perished one after another within a year and a half. It had happened to more than two thirds of their population.

But it wasn't the end of the story. Some influent politician had suggested that, since they'd let the house elves free, they could make some convicted people serve the 'good people' as an atonement for their crimes. It all had started with making some prisoners take part in rebuilding of what had been damaged during the war. But later some convicted people had ended up serving some families. The idea hadn't been working very well: two of them had escaped, though both had been found, because they'd had tracking spells on them, and the other one had killed the man he'd been serving to. People needed guarantees that nothing like this would ever happen again, so... slowly but surely the world had come to slavery. It still wasn't very common, but terrifyingly quickly it had started to be considered as something normal. It seemed especially justified, because all the money, paid for the slaves to the Ministry, went to those, whose families had suffered during the war. Some money was also being given to the organisations that spread muggle-born propaganda, making all the muggle-borns look like martyrs of the war; at the same time, they were busy with pureblood anti-propaganda. They had supported the rally with the idea to give the sack to all the pureblood politicians, just in case, because no one wanted purebloods to have any influence, since, of course, there still could be some sympathisers of the Death Eaters (Merlin forbid if anyone in the Ministry had a Death Eater among their remote kinsmen). At least, the new government used such kind of explanations as a cover for many of their deeds. But, returning to slavery: the money paid for slaves was used for such noble purposes! Who cared if some part of that money (gained for the legal human trafficking) stayed in the Ministry in someone's pocket? Who cared if some human beings were treated as property if they surely 'deserved' it? How comfortable it was to calm consciences with such words as: 'deserved punishment', 'atonement' and 'debt to the society'. And the slavery itself was called 'penal labour', 'correctional work'; or anything that made people feel better and sleep well. The embittered war victims, especially those who'd lost their loved-ones to the Death Eaters, had accepted such things frighteningly easily.

Hermione was in dismay. What had started as her attempt to make the world better, had turned into a complete farce. She was responsible for so many deaths of the magical creatures, had made other mistakes, and now... this. It was a very cruel lesson. Even if she was a witch, a very smart witch, it hadn't really been her world from the start; the ideas that could have worked in the muggle world weren't all that good for this one. She'd meddled in the natural order of things, and paid a price that was too high. And she had supported the incumbent minister and other people that had later appeared to be opportunistic hypocrites, which she hadn't seen in the beginning. Now she knew their true faces. It was only the power they cared about. They'd even used her name in some of their decisions, even though she'd had nothing to do with them.

Now she worked for the opposition and tried to set things right. The painful experience had taught her to see things differently and choose her allies more carefully. It had taught her to question herself and her every decision, as well as to question the other people and their decisions. Her main priority was fighting for the abolition of the slavery. Some slaves were abused on regular basis and treated awfully. And again, their owners calmed their consciences with the conviction that slaves were nothing but criminals and deserved to be punished. It was such a frequent excuse.

The morning was, indeed, busy. As she took the pain-relieving potion, massaged her temples and gave herself several minutes of rest, she got up from the bench and continued her way down the corridor. Her heels were clicking against the stone floor and she barely heard any other sounds, because the place itself was very calm most of the time. She was walking past the heavy iron doors with small barred windows, heading to one particular holding cell almost in the end of the corridor, on the left side of it. As she reached it, she tentatively looked inside through the small window. Her ex-classmate was lying motionless, curled up into a tight ball, almost entirely wrapped up in the blanket as if searching for a shelter in it. He flinched slightly in his sleep, but didn't wake up. Even in his sleep he somehow kept looking unhappy. Hermione sighed. Malfoy's parents were dead, his child had been taken away from him. As for him, his trial had been cancelled yesterday, after he'd been waiting for it for a month and a half, because the members of the Wizengamot by a majority vote had decided to sentence him in absentia to fifteen years of the 'community service' (which was the official term for today's slavery), instead of Azkaban. Malfoy's lawyers had been scandalised, but they were powerless to change anything. Draco wasn't a killer; those who'd committed murders were rarely made into slaves. And even though he'd committed crimes, he'd been forced into it, threatened. In normal circumstances, he would have been discharged or got away with the conditional sentence, but the mere presence of the Dark Mark on his forearm and his surname were enough to be considered a criminal, despised by the entire society, especially given that he'd been hiding with his parents for several years. The Wizengamot had chosen the punishment for him, probably deciding that for the pureblood aristocrat slavery was worse than the proximity of the dementors.

Hermione couldn't help but sigh in relief that Malfoy was sleeping. She really doubted that he already knew what fate was waiting for him, and she didn't really want him to find it out from her. He would find out today from his lawyers. In spite of their history in Hogwarts, it was against her principles to leave him alone in this, even though she knew what a deathblow all of it was going be to his self-esteem. He hardly had any idea she was in any way involved in it, and she decided that it was for the best for now.

~*O*~

Harry flooed home from work a bit tired, but, as usual, the patter of little feet was comforting and he smiled before the small body collided with his legs and two small arms wrapped around them.

"Hello, Al," Harry greeted cheerfully, patting the hark-haired head of his almost four years old son.

"Hi, Daddy," the boy murmured. His children were probably the only reason for Harry not to stay at work longer than necessary. The almond-shaped green eyes looked up at him and Harry smiled again.

"How are you today? How's Jamie?"

"M'fine. Jamie making mess again," the boy replied. It meant that Ginny was trying to feed their younger son, but it wasn't easy, because the boy had a temper and was hard to please with any food at all, so the feeding often took a lot of time and patience.

Harry changed from his auror robes into the clothes he usually wore at home, and found James and Ginny in the kitchen. He approached his wife and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, Gin."

"Hi," she replied with small smile, but otherwise was unresponsive to his attention. But he was long used to it. He didn't even know why he was still trying. His younger son, however, smiled when his Daddy kissed the top of his head.

"Da-dada!" the one-year-old greeted.

~*O*~

Harry's children were practically the happiest accidents he'd ever had in his life. Albus Severus had been born only several days after defeat of Voldemort. Ginny's pregnancy had been kept secret, and her belly had been disguised by the charms, so only several closest people knew about her condition back then, for her and baby's protection. She'd conceived when Harry had been staying in the Burrow, before Bill's and Fleur's wedding. It had been his seventeenth birthday and he'd been tipsy, unaccustomed to alcohol and its capability of melting some barriers. Before he could stop himself he'd found himself in Ginny's bed. He'd had no idea about the pregnancy during his hunt for the horcruxes, and had only found out about it after the final battle when Ginny had undone the charms. Harry had been shocked, of course, because he hadn't been ready for anything like this! He hadn't even been sure he wanted to renew his relationship with Ginny, he'd wanted to have some rest after the war, he'd wanted to leave Britain and travel for a year or so. But it had been ruled out, once he'd found out about his fatherhood especially given that only five days after that revelation, Ginny had gone into labour.

It had all been too soon, but he'd resigned after some time; he'd resigned for the role of a husband in such a young age, because, like a real man he was, he'd proposed to the mother of his child, knowing that it had been the right thing to do. Once married, they'd settled down in the house of Blacks that they'd managed to turn into something much cleaner, warmer and more welcoming in their opinion. At least, the rooms that they used, which was less than a half.

Harry loved his son very much, and it had made him accept the entire situation. For some time he and Ginny had even been happy, but later they'd started to grow colder towards each other. The second pregnancy had also been accidental, and Ginny had become unbearable, because it had ruined her starting Quidditch career. She'd had a depression and at first had kept her condition secret from Harry. She'd even thought about terminating the pregnancy, but she'd delayed and kept attending her Quidditch practice. But when she couldn't hide it any longer, being pregnant for about four and a half months, she'd told Harry. He had secretly been angry, because, even being her husband, he'd found out about her condition later than he would've preferred to find out about something this important. Again. He'd hoped that the second child would make them close again, but it had only become worse. They loved their children, but they didn't love each other. Harry honestly tried. He still tried, just for the children, for whom he was ready to sacrifice his own personal happiness. Children shouldn't suffer only because their parents had been too young when they'd got married, and then they'd just changed and weren't very happy with each other. Thankfully, Ginny never let their boys see the look full of accusation she sometimes gave Harry, partially blaming him for her ruined dream of becoming a Quidditch star, even though he assured her that she could come back to it in several years when their children would grow up a little. Sad but true, James' birth had estranged Harry and Ginny even more and they only kept up the facade of a normal family for the other people. But all in all Harry felt secure, having a family, and spent as much time as he could with his little boys.

~*O*~

Someone firecalled and Harry wiped James' mouth, as he'd finally managed to feed him, finishing it for Ginny. He kissed and put the cooing child into the playpen, giving him the dummy, and hurried to the fireplace. It was Hermione, and Harry immediately let her in, remembering that they'd agreed to meet today, because she wanted to talk about something and had owled him earlier this day to notify him about her visit.

He prepared some tea for two of them and sat down in the armchair, placing the tray on the coffee table. Hermione was sitting on the sofa, massaging her temples.

"You look tired," Harry said softly, knowing how hard her friend was working.

"I'm fine, Harry. I'll take a couple of days to make up for the lost sleep in the end of this week," she said, taking a cup of tea from the tray.

"You wanted to talk about something. Should I call Ginny?"

"No. I actually wanted to talk to you first."

"Is something wrong?"

"I need your help."

"Anything," Harry smiled.

"Oh, don't be in hurry to agree, or you'll make me put you in an awkward position," she smiled back.

"So... What is it all about?"

"Draco Malfoy. He's been found and arrested. I know you hardly read any papers."

"I heard about his arrest at work," Harry said pensively.

"He's not going to have any trial; they've already sentenced him yesterday," Hermione said, looking at her friend carefully.

"Sentenced?" he frowned a little. He had always thought that of all Malfoys Draco would've been discharged, because Harry knew the true story behind his joining to Voldemort's ranks. But he also knew how much people hated the ex-Death Eaters.

Hermione told him everything she knew about Draco's arrest. Harry had had no idea that both Narcissa and Lucius had been killed for resisting arrest and that Draco had been found and arrested later, and Draco's son (no one had even known that he had one) had been taken away from him, because Draco was deprived of his parental rights and, well.., because of his imprisonment. Harry couldn't help but feel very uneasy about it all, especially when Hermione told him about the decision of the Wizengamot.

"It's bizarre," he sighed. Draco was going to become a slave for fifteen years! It was insane!

They were silent for several minutes. Harry was deep in his thoughts that were full of Malfoy and memories about him. After all, and behind everything, he'd been just a scared boy that had had no freedom to refuse to take the Mark without letting his family be killed. Tears, falling into the sink in the lavatory... The pool of blood on the floor... The incapability to kill; Draco just didn't have it in him. Draco in the Manor, never telling anything about recognising Harry. Draco, trying to escape from the fire that had threatened to consume him... But, most of all, Draco during their sixth year that Harry had practically spent following him. And Hermione hadn't been far from truth, saying that Harry had been obsessed, no matter how desperately he'd tried to convince everyone, including himself, otherwise. Draco's example had taught Harry, that life was _**much**_ more than black and white. Yes, life was much more complicated. In part it was Draco who had taught him that, in part it was late Severus Snape. But Harry had never looked at the things the same way after their sixth year. Back then he'd been planning to talk to Draco for hundreds of times; he'd wanted to talk to him, to try to understand him, to make him listen. He didn't really know what he'd wanted! But all the planned conversations had remained in Harry's head, never becoming his actions.

He suddenly felt the lump in his throat and wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

Hermione was watching him carefully. Harry hadn't changed much for the last three or four years, but still he'd definitely matured; he'd become taller and his auror training kept him in good shape. There were a few small wrinkles on his face here and there, but nothing prominent. Undoubtedly, he was a handsome young man. His eyes were something that had hardly changed. And Hermione knew_** this**_ particular look of these brilliant green eyes; she'd often seen it during their sixth year.

"Buy him," she said so suddenly that he flinched and looked back at her with shocked and disbelieving eyes.

"What?" he hissed. "Mione, you can't possibly..."

"Listen to me. I know you disapprove all of it just as much as I do, but you have to save him. I would have done it myself, but you know I already have Babette and I can't have another slave. You know we do what we can to stop this madness, and we'll win, eventually. But until then Malfoy needs a normal home."

"He's not some homeless animal to just... God..."

"It's not my whim or something, Harry. Don't let him get to Barton, that minister's puppet... Do you know what happened to his previous slave?"

"No. What?" Harry shook his head, still unable to believe that Hermione was suggesting him something like that.

"She was repeatedly beaten up by him and his wife, and finally died several weeks ago, because they'd starved her to death. They've hushed up the business, of course. Don't let it happen to Draco. People hate him, and he just won't be safe in anyone else's hands. If it's about money, I'll pay for him."

"It's not about money," Harry frowned. "It's about complicating the life that I'm trying to put on a normal footing," he sighed. Hermione kept looking at him expectantly, and he knew he couldn't just refuse, and he knew that he was going to complicate his life by his own free will after what she'd told him about Draco's potential buyers. He already knew he wasn't going to let Malfoy get to anyone who could hurt him. Slaves were too vulnerable, practically helpless, had no rights, and their masters held too much power that they abused so frequently. He just couldn't trust anyone with Draco. Damned hero complex... "Fine... God, I just know I'm going to regret it." He buried his head in his hands.

"I'll talk to Ginny," Hermione promised.

"Thanks..."

* * *

_**N/A: Okay, don't be mad at me and don't be confused about the situation with Harry's children. In this story he became a father in much earlier age than in DH epilogue. And I decided to make Albus Severus Harry's firstborn. James is almost three years younger. I just found it more comfortable for my storyline, so don't throw tomatoes at me, all right?**_

_**PLEASE, REVIEW!**_


	3. The Price of Your Soul

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

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**Thank you for all reviews:** Talis Ruadair (I mostly have other plans, but I hope you're going to like it anyway :). Thanks a lot for your review!), Paper Angels (Thanks so much for reviewing! ;)), Fantasmo (Thanks! Glad you liked it!), Aquarinus (Thank you! I really appreciate it. I like Hermione, too, but sometimes I find her opinions a bit too categorical, so I put her into this difficult situation), LeStrange (Thanks!), PoisonedFlowers (I'm glad that you find my story this exciting! Now to one of your questions... No, this is NOT going to be a sexual slavery, I assure you. The wizarding world legally coming to any kind of sexual slavery looks very strange and absolutely unrealistic to me and I don't like the idea at all, so don't worry and keep reading ;) ).

**To all who worry about Ginny: Really, guys, don't. It's not an accident that this story is in 'Harry/Draco' category, not 'Harry/Ginny' (The hell is still hot, I've just checked ;) ), so give it a try. I honestly hate Ginny and Harry together and when I was reading books I even hoped against all hopes that somehow Harry would end up with Hermione or someone else. But NOT with Ginny. Their children are the only good thing about 'them', in my opinion.**

**But we all know who the best person for Harry is. Don't we? DON'T WE? ! }:-)**

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Now, please, enjoy the next chapter.

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_**3. The Price of Your Soul**_

~*O*~

"Mister Malfoy. Mister Malfoy, are you asleep?" Draco heard through his slumber, which was hiding him so well from the reality in its warm embrace, like a safe haven. Whoever was trying to tear him away from this embrace wasn't going to give up. All the feeling of safety was suddenly gone and Draco woke up with a start, but it took him time to open his eyes with eyelids slightly swollen from weeping. He winced at the ache and discomfort that had spread through his violated body. His muscles were aching from all the tension they'd endured last night. But the real ache was the most intense in the certain places, where he had been grabbed, where he'd been penetrated. His head hurt, his mind was numb, probably protecting itself, and he knew it was for the best. There was only emptiness he felt.

"Give me a moment..." he croaked, as he'd realised that the voices belonged to his lawyers.

"Of course," Prospero Atrax replied. Draco carefully pulled up his trousers and buttoned them under the blanket. He nearly gasped as he sat up slowly, feeling sore. He got up carefully and, trying to ignore the dizziness, came closer to the door.

"Mister Malfoy, are you all right? You look... You..." Atrax mumbled, looking at his client carefully, paying attention to his constrained movements and other odd details. Draco knew he looked terrible, but he immensely hated to be scrutinised now.

"I didn't sleep well and my leg's gone numb," he said quietly. He was a good liar, especially when he lied automatically just like he did now.

"We're sorry for waking you up then, but we have some news for you, and, I'm afraid, they're not good," the man warned softly.

"Scorpius?" Draco gasped quietly. It was the first real emotion he showed during this conversation.

"No," the lawyer assured him immediately. The little boy still hadn't been found. But Atrax's news had nothing to do with it...

Almost coldly Draco listened to how his fate had been decided behind his back. He'd read papers whilst hiding with his parents, so even being far away from this decaying society he knew about the 'community service'. He was going to become a slave; broken with some special curse and sold... Maybe he should find a way to end his life now, while his soul was still free and unaffected by that foul curse? He thought about it while his lawyers were mumbling their sympathies and how sorry they were that they'd failed to prevent it from happening. He didn't reply, his eyes were empty. It was over, he was doomed... Two men promised him to be there for him during the auction to make sure everything would go within the law. What an irony... Human slavery within the law. Atrax said that he would've bought him to make sure he was treated well, but lawyers, just like family members or any relatives or friends and co-workers (all the well-wishers, in other words), couldn't buy the person. Failing to get his response or any reaction at all, both men left, eventually.

His life was over...

~*O*~

Two days passed as if covered in fog. He couldn't even look at any food. He was once allowed to use the shower (which he was usually allowed once in three days). He could have sworn he'd seen a small smirk on the face of the guard that escorted him to the shower room. Draco's dim, abnormally calm mind concluded that it was probably the guard that had been paid two Galleons for 'not hearing' Draco's screams. Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why the entire hour spent under the streams of water hadn't made the blond feel clean.

In the morning he nibbled a little bit of something that his breakfast suggested, hardly tasting it in his mouth. Today he was going to be turned into a slave... He didn't even try to imagine how it was going to be and how it was going to end. Instead, he lay down on his bed and covered himself with blanket to get some warmth.

He knew almost nothing about that curse, but decided that if his soul would be affected, because the soul of a slave was literally bought by his or her owner, he would somehow stop being himself; he'd probably change so much that he'd stop recognising himself. Would he still love his child? Would he be able to remember what it felt like to hold the small, warm and dear body against his heart? Would Draco still be a human being or he'd be something like an inferius, only with pulse and breathing? Would he be mentally disfigured to the point of not remembering his own name? He fell into a dreamless sleep, hoping to never wake up again.

The slap across his face woke him up, nevertheless. It was the deafening sound of it that startled Draco more than the fact that he'd been hit. He came to his senses and only then felt the way his cheek stung. He rubbed it slightly.

"Are you deaf? I said it's time to go, sleeping beauty," the auror grumbled, looking down on him with irritation, as if the task of escorting Draco had distracted him from something very important. "You've got ten minutes," the man said with disdain, leaving the cell. Ignoring him, the blond got up unhurriedly and sleeked his hair a little, out of habit. He quickly rinsed his mouth and washed his face with cold water. The small, dirty mirror on the wall above the sink showed the tired face with slight shadows under the dull eyes. His normally hollow cheeks that made his face look chiselled and aristocratic were unhealthily sunken. He'd really lost weight after a month and a half of hardly eating anything. It reminded him his sixth year in Hogwarts. How sad that the mirror was unbreakable...

He changed into the fresh set of his formal robe to make himself feel just a little better. He'd been saving it for his trial, which would never take place now. The attire was clean and perfectly ironed. Sadly, it looked a bit loose on him, but still he felt more like himself, wearing it. The auror returned and without warning spelled the heavy shackles on his wrists and ankles. The man was about to grab his shoulder to lead him, but the blond prisoner recoiled.

"Don't fucking touch me," he whispered, almost hissed. The auror smirked and lifted his hands in mock surrender. He moved away and with mock gallantry motioned for his prisoner to move out of the cell. Draco ignored him and just walked out slowly.

~*O*~

Harry and Hermione entered the rather large circular room that in some way resembled both courtroom and a small arena with tiered seating. In the centre of it (which was the lowest point of the room) was the small space with the heavy looking gothic chair. Harry wondered if it was meant for the future slave to feel even lower below all the other people. At the same time, it resembled him the Courtroom Ten with its 'accusation chair' in the centre. This one here, too, had chains with shackles attached to it. He remembered the uneasiness that he'd felt during his disciplinary hearing for performing the underage magic.

There were eight other people in the room, except for the guards near the massive double-wing door. Most people in the room were, most likely, the potential buyers. Harry deliberately sat down far away from the centre of the room. Hermione excused herself and promised to come back in ten minutes. Nervously Harry was tapping his knee with his fingertips. Soon he was approached by the brown-haired woman in dark-red dress robes. She smiled at him and gave him the clipboard, made of dark wood, with several pieces of parchment. He also received the quill and the inkwell with some special ink. When he asked why he would need all of it, she explained him that such kind of biddings were silent. All he had to do was write down his bid. The bids of the other participants would automatically appear on his parchment by themselves written with red ink (his own was black). He nodded, as he'd understood how it worked, and the woman left him alone.

_'What am I doing here?..'_ he sighed to himself. He just couldn't easily accept the fact that a living human being could be put under the hammer. He dreaded the moment he'd see his school rival again and waited for it, at the same time. He hadn't even slept last night, feeling too troubled to just close his eyes and relax. What example was he giving to his children? What example was he giving to the entire society that had already started accepting slavery as it was? Now that people would find out that their hero... No, he was afraid to even think about it.

Deep in his thoughts he nearly missed the moment someone else came near him. When he turned his face, he saw the tall man with thin greying hair and small amber eyes. Harry couldn't help but notice that the man's dark-blue robes looked very expensive.

"Mister Potter, good afternoon. My name is Maximilian Dubois. I'd love to offer you a deal," he said almost straight away, albeit politely.

"Umm... What kind of a deal?" Harry asked a bit confused.

"I understand you have your own reasons to be here. As far as I know, Draco Malfoy was your classmate, and you weren't friendly with each other, to say the least," the man drawled with a very small, empty smile.

"You're very well informed," Harry smiled, but the smile didn't have a hint of friendliness. There was something dangerous about this person. Harry had been a licensed auror for only a little over one year (actually, he was one of the youngest aurors ever), but he possessed a good intuition that right now warned him against trusting this stranger.

"I want to purchase that boy," the man continued. "His father was among those who destroyed one of my houses and people who were hiding there. Those people were close to me."

"And?" Harry quirked his eyebrow. "You want to buy Draco Malfoy to satisfy your thirst for revenge? You're going to torment him, imagining that it's his father, not Draco, you're hurting? You're pathetic," he said almost calmly, despite the anger he felt. As he was speaking, he wasn't afraid to look into the man's amber eyes that immediately lost all their fake warmth. "You won't get him, so I suggest you to get out. In case you don't know, you're talking to the auror, and you've just openly confessed that you have an intention to harm or even kill the other person."

"You could, at least, hear my offer," Dubois tried again, although less enthusiastically.

"Not interested. Better spend your money on a good mental healer, because you definitely need one," Harry frowned slightly, making it clear that the conversation was over. Furious man stormed out of the room. Only then Harry noticed that two other potential buyers were already gone, probably accepting Dubois' offer before he'd made one to Harry. Well, that certainly was for the best.

Soon the auctioneer, a rather full, grey man, entered the room and sat down at his desk. His assistant, the woman that had approached Harry before, sat down as well. Some more people joined, about fifteen of them, but Harry somehow decided that the majority of them were just gawkers; there were probably a couple of reporters among them. Hermione returned and sat down next to Harry, who was feeling more and more nervous and restless with each passing moment. Hermione squeezed his hand firmly in attempt to ease the tension. _'Of course, she's not the one who's going to buy a human.'_ All right, that wasn't fair; Hermione _**had**_ a slave, the woman, whose name was Babette, and Hermione had saved her from some sadistic bastard who'd owned her before.

And finally the heavy doors opened once again, and Draco Malfoy entered the room. Harry stopped breathing for he didn't know how long.

Draco didn't look around. He tried his best to keep his back straight, but his eyes were looking down stubbornly. The auror and Draco's two lawyers followed him, though he paid them absolutely no attention. He refused to look at anyone in the room. The reason for him to be here was already humiliating enough in itself, so he didn't want to see their faces, didn't want to know if their looks were appraising or gloating. He sat down on the chair in the centre of the room without waiting for the stupid auror guard to make him do it. His shackles disappeared and the other ones, attached to the chair, captured his thin wrists and ankles so suddenly and with such sharp and loud clank that he flinched violently. He hoped that no one had heard his gasp and did his best to restore his outward composure, and stop breathing this evidently nervously. His eyes never looked up. He almost relaxed when the auctioneer had given the signal to start bidding. Yes, Draco almost relaxed, because no matter how it ended, it wouldn't end well for him, anyway. He could hear the scratching of quills against the parchment, he could feel some of them watching him, but for the sake of his sanity decided not to focus on anything or anyone in this room. Fuck them all.

Harry crossed out the bids of the other participants and wrote down his own price offers just below; someone crossed them out and wrote their own below his. And so on. There was no rush, because they all had forty minutes in general or it would last until there was only one participant left. No one levelled up their bids abruptly, which _**probably**_ meant that they weren't really ready to part with large sums of money. On the other hand, Harry, too, wasn't trying to create a buying fever, or whatever it was appropriate to call it in this situation, by provoking anyone to raise their prices too fast. He had absolutely no experience in bidding, so he just did what others did, because they looked like they knew how it worked. Since Hermione was silent, sitting close to him and looking at his parchment, she apparently approved his tactic.

Soon he noticed that some people started to put their quills and clipboards aside, which meant they weren't taking part in the auction any longer. Judging by the handwritings, in the end, only three bidders remained, including him. But, in fact, there was only one person in this room that really had Harry's attention. Draco hadn't changed much, looking a lot like a tired, malnourished, due to the stress, and very pale boy that Harry had seen by the end of their sixth year in school. Later he'd seen him in Malfoy Manor and then in school once again, looking just as ill; and finally Malfoys had left the battlefield, and Harry hadn't seen Draco since then. But, of course, he couldn't have been like this all these years, could he? Most likely, the recent events had exhausted him this much, which was hardly surprising.

Harry was watching him carefully, never forgetting about bidding, though. The nervousness and fear, which Draco had unwillingly showed when he'd been escorted into the room and had sat down on the chair, seemed to have calmed. His eyes had almost stopped roaming about the floor nervously, his shoulders had almost relaxed and stopped rising and falling so abruptly with his anxious breathing; the outward tension had almost gone. All the remaining signs of apprehension were, most likely, unconscious. He never looked up, but often made himself hold his head upright, as if reminding himself that he was a proud aristocrat (or had been, anyway). Leisurely and absentmindedly his hands were slightly trifling with the thick chain attached to the manacle that firmly held his right wrist. The chain was resting on his thighs and in his hands like some tame animal. Although there were some small signs of uneasiness, the blond, in the first place, looked resigned and really downcast. It seemed that not a trace remained of his former sneer and arrogance; right now '_**broken**_' seemed to be an appropriate word to describe Draco.

More bids were being done. Another participant had decided not to bid any further. So now it was just Harry and some old man that was unreadable to Harry. But later Harry saw him writing down his price offers more and more tentatively. And when there were only two minutes left until the end of the auction, the old man put his quill down. Harry knew that things would have been much harder if that idiot Maximilian Dubois had taken part in it. Before Harry knew it, the enchanted hammer hit the auctioneer's desk three times, startling almost everyone in the room, including the half-dozing auctioneer, who immediately started looking through the pieces of parchment on his desk. He cleared his throat and announced:

"In order to serve the punishment, prescribed by the Wizengamot, Draco Lucius Malfoy is sold for seventy eight Galleons and twelve Sickles. The buyer is Harry James Potter. Mister Potter comes into possession of Draco Malfoy from this moment on, and is considered the rightful owner for the next fifteen years." The hammer hit the desk once more with a note of finality. Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes for several moments to collect himself and try to comprehend the words he'd just heard. He'd heard right, hadn't he?..

Draco was stunned and shocked. He refused to believe it. When he'd heard Potter's name he was almost sure and tried to convince himself that his ears were playing tricks on him. All the ordeals had driven him mad, obviously, so he was just hearing things. It couldn't be real. And yet, he couldn't force himself to lift up his eyes and look around to see the one who had just purchased him... It wasn't real, it just couldn't be real. It was simply impossible. Draco wished the earth could swallow him up right now.

All the participants and gawkers left the room soon, but Harry only got up when Hermione squeezed his hand again. They descended to the centre of the room where the blond was sitting. Draco's face was pink and flushed, his head was still dropped, his hands were holding the chain firmly, and he wasn't moving. Harry didn't know if he should say something, but wisely decided not to. And then the dim grey eyes met the brilliant green tentatively. Draco didn't really look much older than the last time Harry had seen him years ago. Just as Harry, he was only twenty one now, almost twenty two. But his eyes... They looked like they belonged to a person that had seen _**everything**_; and that everything hadn't been pleasant. Harry couldn't help but think that he was looking into two abysses of hopelessness.

"_When you look into_ an _abyss_, _the abyss_ also _looks into you_," he whispered hardly audible when said abysses had turned away. "Can't remember who said that..."

"Friedrich Nietzsche," Hermione whispered. "Why?"

"Never mind..." Harry sighed, still quietly enough, and kept looking at the blond almost covertly. The small and bitter smirk appeared on Draco's face, and there was some display of betrayal and disappointment in his eyes, but all in all he _**didn't**_ seem surprised. Harry felt uneasy, assuming what things Draco must have had in his foolish blond head right now. He could swear Draco was sure that Harry had bought him to take vengeance for everything they'd had at school, to humiliate him. And, if Draco had had _**any**_ faith in humankind before (let's, at least, pretend that he'd had it), he'd lost it now completely, since even 'Saint Potter' had _**bought a slave**_. Harry was somehow sure that exactly these thoughts crossed the blonde's mind. And he felt terribly ashamed. He'd just bought a human being, like a thing, like an animal. And not just some stranger, but the person he'd somehow been caring for since their sixth year at school. It didn't matter if he cared for Draco or just pitied him. He just had... something that would have never let him allow Draco to be bought by someone who could, and, most certainly, would, hurt him. But the look on the blonde's face made Harry feel mortified; even if he was saving Draco from worse fate, he felt dirty. How the fuck people who allowed such things to happen could sleep at nights?

Seventy eight Galleons and twelve Sickles... A couple of years ago for Hermione's birthday Harry had bought her the book, which had cost him ninety two Galleons, sixteen Sickles and several Knuts. It was a rare, old book on politics of the wizarding world, written by one of the ancient rulers. There were only several copies of the book in the entire world. It had a leather cover with gold lettering. Rare and old, but still just a book. Ginny's wedding dress had cost almost one hundred and ten Galleons (because she'd wanted a better wedding dress than Fleur had had on her wedding day). Several days ago, whilst going for a walk with his children in the park, Harry had accidentally heard one woman boasting to the other one that her husband had bought her boots, made of skin of some magical beast, that cost more than eighty Galleons, which he found absolutely bizarre. And Draco's life, freedom, will and soul cost less than those things! A decent broom for a professional quidditch player cost like several Dracos, according to the result of this ridiculous auction. The realisation of it was simply appalling for Harry. He felt too ashamed to look into Draco's eyes again.

Soon the Ministry official, the auburn-haired man, who was about thirty years old, entered the room and greeted Harry and Hermione, introducing himself as 'Charon Fender, the Enchanter'. Harry wondered what that really meant, since he'd always believed that every witch or wizard could be called the 'enchanter' and other words that described person with magical abilities. But it was just a job position title, so he just shrugged to himself. The enchanter was probably a name for those who performed certain rituals.

Fender asked them to follow him. He also gave a nod to the auror. The shackles let go of Draco's wrists and ankles, and fell down on the floor near the chair where they usually were.

"Get up," the auror said, and Draco complied. The man spelled his own restrains on the prisoner again.

"Is this necessary?" Harry asked quietly. It wasn't like Draco would try to escape without magic and with people around him.

"We have the rules," the guard shrugged.

They all followed Fender, who led them somewhere to perform the spell that would be the final phase in making Harry Draco's owner, the owner of his very soul... There was the lump in Draco's throat, because he still didn't know and kept wondering if he was going to be himself after it or not, if he was still going to have his thoughts and feelings or they'd be replaced with something else. But he would have rather died than asked any of them about it. The embarrassment was too much. When he'd thought that it just couldn't have got any worse... Potter. Draco was trying to keep up the pace with the others, which wasn't easy with his shackles, but he tried not to lag behind to avoid the auror to slightly push him forward, to avoid any touching at all. Thankfully, the moron wasn't even trying to do it after what had happened back in the cell today. And, fortunately, everyone was walking quite slowly. Draco's lawyers were still there for him, walking right behind him, but saying nothing at all. Not that Draco wanted them to.

The wizard from the Ministry brought them to some office. The enchanter himself sat down at the desk and told Harry and Draco to sit down across from him. Everyone else kept away.

"I'm going to read the incantation and then Mister Malfoy will take the potion to consolidate the effect of the spell," Fender explained.

"Is it going to hurt?" Harry asked carefully. It was enough that Draco's soul was going to be attached and submitted to him, so he hoped that, at least, it wouldn't be painful for the blond.

"This might hurt, just a little, but no severe pains, I promise, Draco," Hermione said quietly, looking at the blond, since it was he who had the possibility of being 'hurt just a little'. He had the right to know, didn't he? She was almost taken aback by the look he gave her. She couldn't even tell that it was full of hatred; there were many emotions in it and, at the same time, no emotions at all. Mostly, it just told her to get away from him.

"It doesn't hurt those who have resigned to their situation," Charon Fender corrected. Harry wondered what Malfoy thought about it, but the blond was looking down with unreadable expression on his pale face. He looked pretty resigned, and Harry wasn't sure he liked it at all, but it was probably better this way, because it would save Draco from additional sufferings. God, it was still unbelievable! Draco Malfoy was sitting next to Harry after all these years... and belonged to him. Officially.

"Ready to begin, Mister Potter?" Fender asked. Of course, no one asked Draco. Harry frowned at that a little, but nodded tentatively. The enchanter extracted the book with dark-brown cover out of his leather briefcase, and opened it where the red bookmark was placed. He stood up, cleared his throat, pointed his wand at Draco and started to read the long incantation very quietly. It was probably a secret spell that only the professionals, trusted by the Ministry, should know and use.

Draco was impassively looking at the tip of the man's wand, even though he was numb with fear and morally prepared himself that he would probably soon be as good as dead. But, perhaps, it wasn't so bad, because he'd stop suffering... It only took a minute for him to feel his eyelids heavy and sore. It felt like the spell was hypnotising him. His body was gradually relaxing in the chair, but his mind was almost clear. It seemed as if he was looking inside himself, but there mostly was darkness. Half-conscious, he faintly felt himself being filling up with magic that wasn't his own. It was going through his bones, slightly vibrating and causing pain, especially to his joints. It wasn't unbearable, but it hurt. He wondered, why. He wasn't resisting this magic. He was resigned, wasn't he? He had nothing left to lose. He was submissive. But, at the same time, he was inwardly in panic that his will and his thoughts were going to stop existing. _'Please, gods, I only want a happy life for my little boy. I want him to have a better life than my own was. It's all I want; it's all I ask for... while I still can ask...' _

Harry frowned as he heard Draco's whimper. The blond looked like he was suffering, but he didn't look like he was fully conscious; he looked like he was half-immersed in a state of hypnosis or something like that. Harry looked at Hermione with eyes demanding explanation, and he wanted to stop Fender. Seeing it in his eyes, Hermione shook her head and mouthed: "No". The spell casting was dangerous to interrupt. Harry closed his eyes for several moments, trying to stop seething from anger. It was just wrong. All of it was so very wrong. He then looked at Draco again; at his closed eyes. He could see the small teardrop at the outer corner of the blonde's left eye, like a clear brilliant bead, strung on one or two pale eyelashes; but it didn't fall.

_'...My little heart... Papa loves you. My Scorpius... If I forget you, it won't be me anymore. My dear baby...'_ Draco tried his best to hold on to the thoughts and memories of his little boy, even though it hurt him terribly to think about something that had been lost in such a cruel way. He remembered the warm feeling of holding his child in his arms; he remembered the smile full of love and trust that his boy had been giving him since he'd been a tiny baby... Draco was holding on to it, thinking that even the memories of it were going to be taken away from him. His feverish thoughts were interrupted, as he suddenly felt the invasive magic going through the heart of his own magic. The location of it was nowhere in particular, but he felt it now conquered and restrained before he stopped consciously feeling it, as before.

When Harry started to wonder if he was going to feel any effect of the curse at all, since he just had to feel something, too, he felt himself relaxing. His eyes rolled back in his head before closing, and for several brief moments he felt himself losing consciousness, however, he was still aware of the gentle flow of magic entering his chest; and he just knew instinctively that it was Draco he felt.

And suddenly it was over. Fender took out the small vial from his briefcase. He opened it and, apologising for all the discomfort, asked Harry to give three drops of his blood. Still a bit disoriented Harry only nodded before the tip of his index finger was pricked with needle. A bit overwhelmed with everything that was happening, he hardly felt it. Three drops of his blood slowly fell into the transparent, slightly greenish liquid. Fender corked up and shook the vial before uncorking it again. He approached still hardly conscious Draco, whose head was thrown back. The enchanter slowly poured the potion between the parted lips and cast the spell to make the younger wizard swallow before he had a chance to choke on the liquid. It was then that Draco started to regain consciousness, feeling himself swallowing some liquid that mostly had the taste of herbs. It was sweet, but it was not quite a pleasant sweetness, and it left the sickly-sweet herbal aftertaste in his mouth. He also knew that it contained Potter's blood: he'd heard the enchanter asking Potter for three drops of it.

Knowing that it was finally over, Draco tried to fight the strong, but slowly fading feeling of disorientation. Something had changed, but he couldn't understand what exactly. He was still the same person, but wasn't sure if it wasn't the curse that made him feel this way. No... His thoughts and memories were still his. It meant he'd been wrong, and the curse wasn't supposed to turn the person into a mindless, drooling idiot. He could still hate Potter, Granger and the entire world. He still loved his child and hurt over him like only a parent could. He wondered what had changed then.

Harry was looking at the blond carefully, and his green eyes were full of concern. He wanted to make sure Draco wasn't in pain any longer, but the blond just looked tired and sleepy. Meanwhile, Fender started to explain the changes that had happened due to the curse. He said that Draco wouldn't be able to harm his owner or owner's family (or anyone else, actually), - the curse would stop him. It would punish Draco for any disobedience; the punishment was some severe pain. The blond would not be able to end his life by his own hand. He would have to make a certain amount of work about the house every day. In case the minimal amount wasn't made, a slave would feel restless and would hardly be able to sleep, until the curse was satisfied. But, at the same time, the amount of work wasn't limited with that minimum; it was the owner's decision to make. If a slave was ill or injured, his or her owner could let him or her rest for several days, but normally even an owner couldn't allow a slave to just stop working. The curse would punish a slave for any harm to his or her owners or their property in case he or she managed to do it at all, which was highly unlikely. Verbal confrontations were often punishable, as well. Officially, Draco belonged to Harry, but any member of Harry's family could make orders.

Draco wasn't allowed to use magic any longer, at least, for the next fifteen years. When Draco raised his face a little, he saw the familiar item in the enchanter's hands. It was Draco's wand. It had been his mother's before. At first it hadn't worked properly for Draco, it hadn't felt right in his hand, but then it had gradually recognised Draco as its master while both Narcissa and Lucius had managed to get themselves the other wands before they all had fled... His thoughts were interrupted as Fender had started to bend the wand until it broke in half. The harsh sound of it made Draco flinch. It had been his mother's... Since the blond had had no trial at all, where his wand would have been broken in the end, the enchanter was authorised to do it in addition to his official duties.

After that Fender gave Harry the roll of several sheets of parchment. Harry unrolled it and barely managed to suppress the new wave of anger. _'Oh, for fuck's sake! I just can't fucking believe it!'_ It was the manual! It was called 'recommendations', but, in fact, it was the manual on how to 'properly' treat a slave! There was the description on what exactly was considered as a minimal amount of work and how to calculate it; there were different varieties to make it easier to calculate. There were some spells that were meant to punish a slave (in addition to punishments that the curse itself caused when it found it necessary) and descriptions on how they worked. There were even spells that allowed influencing slave's feelings, in some way, if an owner felt that a slave's demeanour wasn't satisfying. He could severely suppress Draco's will and every single thing he disliked in him. He could even take away the blonde's voice if he wanted a silent slave. Draco had no rights and could be used in any way, even for some dangerous work that posed a potential threat to his health or even life (it wasn't written openly, but it seemed to be a given). Harry could practically hurt Draco in any way he wanted and it would go unpunished.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to stay in the wizarding world any longer. He wanted to pack his things and take his family away from this madness. It was unthinkable!

Fender said that Harry would be able to come back for Draco in two days, once all the papers were ready and signed. Draco, tired and crestfallen, was escorted away by the guard, and Harry was very silent when he and Hermione had left the building to have some fresh air, which he desperately needed.

Once again he thought about the situation, and once again he was terrified, wondering how things could have come down to this. Now he was officially a slaveholder! He'd been completely sure that he would have never treated anyone the way Dursleys had treated him, but in Draco's case it was much worse. The most frightening thing was that he owned Draco's soul. He could severely punish him with a couple of words. He could torture him if he was like that maniac - Maximilian Dubois, who'd desperately wanted to become Draco's owner. Harry could even kill the blond and, most likely, no one would make him really pay for that. He could affect Draco's emotions, violating his mind with some foul spells, if he wanted to, to correct his demeanour! No one should have such power over the other human being. He was sure that most people would be too tempted to abuse that power, and he hoped he wasn't one of them. He already felt too guilty.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked carefully, following him.

"No... I need some time alone," he replied.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I know how you feel. But you know you've done the right thing. Think about it." She stopped and let him walk away.

~*O*~

Sitting almost motionlessly in his dark cell, Draco was thinking, even though he was tired and wanted to have some sleep. He couldn't decide if Potter had bought him to take revenge or just out of pity. The latter seemed more believable, but he wasn't sure.

Draco knew that even if Potter was a mumbling idiot at times, he was a very powerful wizard and a very strong person. Draco had never been ready to admit it openly, but he knew it. Since his first year in Hogwarts Potter had started to face and overcome the gravely dangerous ordeals every year, as far as Draco knew, anyway, though he knew he didn't know everything. Potter had only been fourteen when he'd taken part in the Triwizard Tournament, and his ways to overcome the trials had often made Draco watch him with bated breath. Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord, after all! He had been a hero, a do-gooder and so on... But that didn't make him trustworthy now, and whatever had induced him to buy Draco didn't matter, because it was terribly humiliating for the blond, at any rate. After all, the years had passed, so Potter had probably changed, since he was all right with buying a slave. And, who would have thought it, Draco had once wanted him when he was younger, had secretly dreamed about him... Due to the current circumstances all of it seemed even more stupid and ridiculous than before. Now he was especially ashamed of himself for that part of his life, for that unforgivable weakness that he'd allowed himself to feel. He'd been just an idiot, in any case, even if he had never really tried to act on that shameful weakness. _'Pathetic idiot...'_

It appeared that for Draco the world hadn't become any better with the death of the Dark Lord, even though it was certainly a good thing that the madman was gone. But Draco didn't care any longer... He'd lost everything he'd ever had and now he was going to get straight into the nest of the gloating ex-Gryffindors...

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	4. Harry, the Peacekeeper

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

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_**Thanks for your reviews:**_ Talis Ruadair (Well, I don't think it's going to be any kind of spoiler, so it's all right to answer... No, it was the other man and I haven't mentioned his name in the story. As for your other questions, hopefully, you'll find the answers for most of them in the following chapter :). Thanks for your comment! Enjoy :) ), Paper Angels (Thanks a lot for your review! :) I hope you're going to like the new chapter), Lientjuhh (Thank you so much!), Anonnie (Thanks! I'm glad you like it!), insomnia608 (Yes, indeed he does! He's too conscientious to trust even himself with anything like this. Thanks for reviewing!), Aquarinus (Oh, thanks! Here it is!), Rose (Thank you! :) ), Poisoned Flowers (Thanks! Okay, I can assure you that he's not ;) ), PrinceOfPariahs (Thank you for your reviews and compliments!), Briarvine the Serpent (Thanks a lot! I can't reveal my ideas about Scorpius right now, but I hope you won't be disappointed. Please, enjoy!), UnaDeCal (Thank you! :) ), MultiColouredFlooPowdeR (Thank you so much! I remember you commenting my previous story, too, and I'm very glad you also like this one :). What of paragraphs, I'll do my best and pay attention to this problem. I'm just quite used to making long ones. Old habits die hard. Thanks again! I hope you're going to keep enjoying the story :) ), LeStrange (The plot is hurting you, but you keep reading the story, so thank you :)!), MDarKspIrIt (Then I'm not going to keep you waiting :)! Thanks!), makoslits (Thank you :) ! It's really good that this site suggests story alerts and other useful options.).

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_**4. Harry, the Peacekeeper**_

~*O*~

Harry didn't know why on earth he would need a slave, in the first place. Most work was faster to do with a swish of a wand. They were in the wizarding world, for Merlin's sake, so why would they need to do such things by hand? But, of course, slaves weren't allowed to have wands.

It was only one day left before Draco was going to be moved into this house, and Harry dedicated this day to preparing the room for him. The fact that Draco was a slave now didn't mean that he was going to live in bad conditions. On the contrary, Harry was going to take care of some things to make Draco's situation more or less bearable. Ginny had insisted that Malfoy's room had to be down on the basement floor. They'd even argued about it. In the end, Harry had given it up. They had already had enough quarrels about the whole idea of having Draco in their house. The room in the basement wasn't bad, in fact. It was large, warm, dry (now clean, thanks to Harry) and allowed privacy, since it was quite far away from the other rooms. Somehow he thought that Draco would feel better, considering this fact. Unfortunately, there were no windows, but was it really a problem for a Slytherin, who'd spent so much time in the dungeon? Well, okay, there _**were**_ windows in the dungeons of Hogwarts, but they only offered a view of the depths of the lake.

He provided Draco with what he thought the blond required, including the expensive toiletries (nothing muggle, though), deciding that Draco would feel just a little better if he had the expensive things to which he was used to, or similar ones; not to mention that in school Harry had been absolutely positive that Draco enjoyed taking care of his appearance. He didn't know if it had changed, but had purchased all these things, just in case. He chuckled, thinking that even Ginny had the cheaper hand cream. Draco had had beautiful, always groomed hands in school (yes, Harry had paid enough attention to them) and now that he was going to do many things about the house, his skin would need more care. Harry hoped that the blond wouldn't just throw it all in his face.

He also brought several sets of bedcovers, towels, candles and other necessary things to the newly furnished room. There was the bathroom not far away from the room, but on the first floor, and Harry also cleaned it and made it look decent. No one used it, since his family preferred the upper floors, so he thought Draco would be more than glad (okay, the word 'glad' wasn't quite right for this entire situation, but still...) to have rooms he alone used.

~*O*~

Harry was sitting in some kind of a waiting room and soon the guard escorted Draco to him. The blond was unshackled and the guard left. In his hand Draco was holding the pouch that had the extension charm on it, and, as far as Harry knew, contained the blonde's belongings.

"Hello, Draco..." Harry greeted him quietly and uncertainly. There was no reply and the blond kept looking down. "Well... Let's go," the dark-haired young man said. As he left the room, Draco followed him. Harry intended to use the Floo Network and headed to the nearest fireplaces in the large hall that situated in the end of the corridor. He wished he could just talk to Draco while they were walking, because the silence felt utterly uncomfortable right now. But he could think of nothing he could tell the blond.

There were a lot of people in the hall: aurors, visitors, lawyers and so on. Harry approached one of the large fireplaces, but suddenly saw the colleague he knew from his department, and wanted to say hello.

"Just a moment, I'll be right back," he told Draco, leaving him standing there alone. Draco hated being among the other people. He'd spend so much time in hiding with his parents and son, seeing no one else at all, that crowds made him feel utterly uncomfortable. He suddenly felt the familiar smell and became rigid.

"What a surprise. Nice to see you again," the familiar voice murmured behind his back. _'If you try to turn your pretty face to me, I'll stab you,' _Draco's mind reminded, so he didn't try to turn his face and his tense body didn't move, _**couldn't**_ move, still remembering the rape far too well. It had only happened several days ago. "How sad they're taking you away. I wanted to pay you a visit in a couple of days again. Well, good luck with your new, happy and bright life, sweetness," the man mocked. And then he was gone, but Draco still couldn't make himself turn around or move at all.

"Well, are you ready to..." Potter said, suddenly very close to him. Draco flinched. Harry actually wanted to take his arm to bring him closer to the fireplace, but stopped, because the blond backed away from the hand, as if from a plague, before it had a chance to touch him. He looked as taut as a rope that could break under the strain any moment.

The mere thought about being touched right now seemed unthinkable to Draco. But if it happened, he felt that he would hardly be able to fight or even scream; it seemed he would rather stand there rigid and unable to move, slowly dying inside. It felt like his body was only familiar with violation now. He hated anyone's closeness, it unnerved him, and he didn't like to see when other people were touching each other. He knew this feeling from the past, he knew it would get better later, but right now there was nothing he could do about it.

Harry was puzzled, looking at the impossibly pale, slightly shivering blond. Only several minutes ago he'd seen the shade of hatred and accusations in these otherwise cold and calm grey eyes, but now Draco suddenly looked so subdued that Harry wouldn't even risk coming closer to him again. The blond looked very uncomfortable, being close to the other people.

"Draco... Are you all right?" Harry asked quietly.

"I'm perfectly fine, _**Master**_! Can we go now?" Draco hissed, finding his voice only partially, still too shocked by the encounter with the rapist. The sharp, sudden pain made him gasp. It pierced throughout him like hundreds of white-hot needles, especially hurting his spine and making his back arch slightly. Only the swiftness of it allowed Draco to hold back a scream, because it ended just as quickly as it had begun.

"Draco..." Harry wanted to help Draco not to lose his balance, but remembered that the blond hated to be touched. Harry thought that either he disgusted Draco so much, or there were too much people here, which was too overwhelming for the blond.

It was the first time the curse had punished Draco and he didn't know if it reacted to the fact that he'd lied, saying that he was fine when, of course, he wasn't, or it disliked the disrespectful way of him talking to his owner. Harry sighed. And they weren't even home yet. This was going to be a nightmare...

Avoiding to provoke the curse again in any way, Harry told Draco the address and they flooed to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Draco knew this place. When he was very young he'd been here with his mother, because it was the house where she'd lived before her marriage. Now it looked brighter; it was just different, and yet, some things remained the same.

He followed Potter to the basement. It made him feel just a bit uneasy. He'd never been there, so he wondered if it was something like the dungeon under the Malfoy Manor. But then he saw that it was nothing like that. There were several large rooms; mostly they were storerooms for old things that were no longer in use. There also were two cellars; one of them was the wine cellar, the other one stored food. Kreacher's old room wasn't in use, and Harry never changed anything in it, since the elf had died.

The old kitchen was also there, but when Potters had settled down in the house, they'd made the other kitchen on the first floor, finding it more comfortable. Harry showed it all to Draco, who didn't say a word, and the vacant expression didn't leave his face.

Finally, Harry opened the room that was intended for Draco. All the furniture looked antique, in medieval style, normal for the wizarding world; it had belonged to Blacks. Draco was a bit thankful that he wasn't going to deal with the atrocious, muggle modern, incredibly cheap-looking, in Draco's opinion, furniture. The room had the queen size bed in the corner. The bed had the canopy and curtains. The magnolia coloured bedcovers looked fresh and new. The room itself was tidy. There were some wizarding framed pictures with the sights of nature on the walls to compensate, just a little, for absence of windows. There were books in the bookcase, mostly novels, written by wizarding writers. There were several candelabra all over the room and the wall sconces. Harry showed where he'd put the matchboxes, so Draco could use matches to light all these candles.

He also showed Draco his bathroom on the first floor.

"Look, I... I have the right to give you several first days here to get used to the house, and to have some rest. You look tired, so I thought you could just... well, rest," Harry said a bit nervously. At first Draco wanted to shout that he didn't need Potter's pity, but then decided that he didn't care, so he just shrugged. "Good. If you need something, anything, please, just tell me. We'll talk later." With this Harry left Draco alone.

~*O*~

First thing to do for Draco was unpacking his belongings. He didn't have much, but it was all that had left of his freedom. He placed everything where he wanted it to be.

The second thing was taking a bath. The last month and a half he'd only had showers, but it wasn't the same... In the drawers he found some old jars with scented bath salt and the lavender bath foam. He used it together with lavender salt. When the bathtub was filled almost to the brim with hot water, he undressed and got into it slowly, adjusting to the temperature. His body was still a bit achy; he still had quite pronounced bruises on his hipbone, elbow and shoulders, where he'd been grabbed by the rapist.

Getting into the hot water, he was especially careful with his left forearm where the tender, grey-pink and ugly scar was marring the soft, alabaster skin on the inner part of it, like a shapeless patch. It always reminded him how in a fit of helpless anger and pain he'd cut the Dark Mark out in his bathroom, and lost a lot of blood. Mother had found him like that and treated his wound carefully. It had been a desperate period of his life when he'd had a tendency to self-mutilation, which had only ended after Scorpius' birth. Most other cuts on his forearm had faded due to Narcissa's care, and had become hardly visible; but not the one where the Dark Mark had previously been. The scar still hurt a bit and Draco knew it would hurt forever if disturbed in any way. He'd only got used to feel the clothes against it. Technically, the not completely faded Dark Mark was still there (even though it was inactive due to Voldemort's death); Draco had merely cut out the piece of his skin just to stop seeing the ugly thing every time he undressed. But the price was high: the wound had been healing for almost a year. It had often bled a little and had become contaminated several times, exuding the dark, foul smelling pus.

No, he wasn't going to think about it now, whilst relaxing in the water, in the silence of the large bathroom, slightly illuminated only by the small horizontal window with diamond-shaped panes of glass, that let some daylight in. The warmth, semidarkness and the smell of lavender were, indeed, relaxing, so Draco closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head rest on the folded towel, which he'd placed on the edge of the tub. At least, the conditions of his life for the next fifteen years appeared to be better than he'd expected, but he knew that there was always a catch. There had always been a catch in everything. He knew that he shouldn't get used to any good things, because they were always taken away later... No, he wasn't going to think about it now, too. Not now. Now there were only warmth, semidarkness, silence and lavender.

Harry used the time when Draco was in the bathroom to bring him the tray with dinner and tea. He placed it on the desk and looked around. Draco had obviously unpacked all he had. Harry's attention was quickly riveted to the bedside table, which now looked almost like some kind of altar. There, on the Irish lace doily (that had previously been in this room under the vase on the desk) was the framed picture, and there were two candlesticks on both sides of it with already half-melted candles. It made the photograph look like a sacred object. It was enclosed within the beautiful, cut-glass ornate frame. But Harry wanted to have a better look at the picture itself; the picture of Draco's son. It looked like the blond boy on the photograph had been about two years old when the picture had been taken. He was lying on the white silk, probably, bedcovers. The hand of the one who was taking the picture with the signet ring on the thumb, undoubtedly Draco's hand, was gently holding the child's small one. Yes, it was obvious that Draco was the one who was taking the picture. His little son was smiling up at him happily and adoringly. Only this smile and the look of his eyes (grey, like Draco's) spoke volumes about how much the boy was attached to his daddy. Actually, the child looked very much like Draco's tiny copy. His mother, whoever she was, had probably been a bit confused that her son had hardly taken anything from her appearance (if he'd taken anything at all). Harry had no idea who she was. He knew that Draco wasn't and had never been married, and there'd been no woman around when Draco had been arrested and his boy taken away. There were no pictures of her in Draco's room. There was only one small picture of Lucius and Narcissa on one of the shelves. Harry wondered if Draco had loved or still loved that mysterious woman. He couldn't help but feel a little pang of jealousy, which he decided to leave without explanation. But he was an auror and he had the access to a lot of different information, so he could always find out the truth.

It was very, very sad that Draco and this loving and, obviously, loved little boy had been separated. Harry shuddered, thinking how much it would have hurt him if his sons were separated from him. It was wrong...

~*O*~

The next three days Draco was resting and sleeping a lot, making up for the sleepless nights in the holding cell. It felt safer to sleep in his new room; it somehow resembled him the dungeons of Hogwarts. He only left the room to use the bathroom. Potter usually tried to bring him food when he was away, probably reluctant to see him (well, it was more than mutual), but there just had to be some charm on the door of Draco's room, which alerted Potter when he was out of the room to quickly bring him the tray of food and go away, just as quickly.

Truth to be told, Harry, indeed, avoided Draco as much as he could, because there was nothing he could do about the shame he felt. And yet, he took a four-week holiday to be at home, just in case.

But he couldn't delay the inevitable forever. When on the fourth morning he visited the blond, he saw him restlessly pacing the room and looking as if his heart was beating faster than normal.

"The curse?" Harry asked quietly. The answer was obvious, so Draco didn't reply. "Follow me," the dark-haired man said. And Draco did.

Harry took him to library.

"Umm... The books are dusty and in disorder. I never have time to take care of it. So... This is your task. Clean them and put them where they belong. You may take a break whenever you want, and... you don't need to hurry." Harry tried to be more specific, not to let the curse find any opportunity to punish Draco for anything. He brought him the feather duster, the potion for cleaning purposes and several cleaning cloths.

As Draco started to tidy up the library, his heart rate quickly normalised and the restlessness was gone.

"Any requests?" Harry asked, trying to get just something out of the taciturn blond.

"I want to have a list of my duties. And... I don't think you intend to, but... Just in case: I want to keep having my meals separately from you and your family." He suddenly felt something unpleasant inside; the warning. It was the curse reminding him that slaves didn't make any demands, and he'd just made something close to it.

"All right... But I can't give you any list now. Let's start with tidying up some rooms we don't use. It'll take days if not weeks before it's done. And then... We'll see," Harry replied. This time there was no response or any reaction at all, so he left.

Draco opened only one of three windows in this large room, because it was still quite cold, despite the very end of April, and returned to his work. It was calm, monotonous, physical work, so he let his mind wander. It was good that the library was so large and there were so many dusty books in the dusty bookcases here, where no one bothered him. He removed all the books from one shelf, cleaned the shelf, then cleaned all the books separately (which took time) before putting them back. And then he moved to a next shelf to do the same. It was definitely good not to be bothered.

A couple of hours later he felt that someone was watching him, and tuned his face just to see... the sphinx. Well that was unexpected, because he'd had no idea that Potter had one. It was quite a rarity, after all. Even though sphinxes nowadays weren't as big as in the past, they were bigger than kneazles. Their size was somewhere between lions and domestic cats, actually. But their heads were human (even though, smaller than human heads, proportionally to their lion-like bodies) and they were very intelligent magical creatures. Potter's was a female with pale face and proud features of a woman of thirty five years old or so. She had the short light-sandy fur on her body, wrapped up in blue silk cloth with golden lace edging. The hair on her head was sandy blond (not unlike the colour of the fur that covered her body), wavy and gathered in a loose, short ponytail on the back of her neck with the silk ribbon. She had heavy golden earrings with intricate design and tiny dark-blue gemstones. There was the matching pendant on her neck and several thin golden chains. The magical creature was looking at Draco curiously with her dark-amber eyes.

"So you're Draco," she suddenly said with the voice that could belong to an ordinary middle-aged woman. "They were talking a lot about you, argued, so I decided to see for myself."

"The rare magical creature couldn't wait to see me? I'm flattered," Draco murmured, chuckling slightly, and returned to work. She ignored his sarcasm.

"They say you're from some very rich and old family, proud and aristocratic, so I'm curious how you ended up in slavery. Of course, I've heard some details..." she said and slightly bit the inside of her lower lip thoughtfully.

"Well, your ancestors were bigger, lived longer, were worshipped by humans and had wings, so I can't imagine how your kind ended up as pets," he parried.

"Touché!" she exclaimed, chuckling softly, and sat down. Her tufted tail was sweeping the floor in a slow, lazy manner. "A human with some brains, I see. Well, you're right, things change. As for me, I was gifted to the head of this house for his heroic deeds; not that he's been very happy about it, and not that _**I've**_ been any happier. My homeland is Kenya, but I haven't been there for many years. I've been living in this house for three years now. My name's Semiramis, by the way; the daughter of Epiphania," she introduced, speaking slowly. But then she sniffed and winced a little. "It's too dusty and my curiosity is satisfied, for now; so I'd better go. See you later, slave," the sphinx said and left unhurriedly, with her head high. She'd hardly tried to offend him; there was no disdain in the way she'd called him a slave. It had sounded like calling someone by their profession; she just found it normal. Draco hadn't quite paid attention to it, anyway.

Soon Potter visited and said that Draco's lunch was in his room. The blond wasn't very hungry, but he didn't mind to have a break. Potter cast a cleaning spell on Draco, especially his clothes, and left. The blond went to his bathroom anyway, to wash his hands and face before the meal.

As he'd returned to work, he was soon distracted by the faint noise, the source of which was somewhere near the door. He frowned, thinking that it was that curious sphinx again.

"Who's there?" he scowled, looking in the direction of the noise. The green eye, framed with the dark hair was the only thing he saw. It shyly looked at him from behind one of the bookcases.

"It's me," the child's voice replied quietly. Draco sighed. Now Potter's spawn was here to annoy him. He knew that Potter had two sons. It had been in the papers he'd read whilst in hiding. "Daddy said not to bover you yesterwday and... that you sleeping. But today you not..." the boy said timidly.

"Right..." Draco mumbled quietly, doubting that the boy heard him. He kept cleaning the books.

"My name is Al," the child introduced himself. Shyly he moved a bit closer, so Draco could really see him. The boy looked a bit older than his Scorpius... Probably several months older or almost a year older; Draco couldn't tell for sure. He looked a lot like Potter, at least, his eyes and dark, messy hair.

"Why don't you go play with your toys?" Draco sighed again.

"I played."

"Then go play some more."

"Oh, Al, I told you not to go here!" Ginevra Weasley (no, she was Potter now) exclaimed, as she'd opened the door.

"Just want to look," Al pouted and went to his mother. "Bye..." he said, turning to Draco once more. Potter's wife looked at the blond with unreadable expression on her face and left together with her son, holding his hand.

Potter brought him some food again, and then, almost at seven in the evening asked Draco if he felt the curse satisfied with today's amount of work. There wasn't much work done, because there were too many books to clean and too much dust on them, but the thoroughness compensated for it, so the curse was, indeed, satisfied, and the minimum had been done.

When he'd taken a bath and returned to his room, Semiramis was there. It looked like she'd just entered, though.

"What do you want?" he asked, taking the comb and approaching the mirror to do his hair.

"I merely wanted to see your room. Cats are curious, don't you know?" she replied, looking around.

"Yes, and, according to the famous proverb, it kills them," he frowned a little. He sighed in frustration when the arrogant creature jumped onto his bed just to have a better look at his bedside table. She scrutinised the photograph of the little boy for several moments.

"Is this some young god that you worship?" she asked, seeing that the picture was taking some special place. Draco turned to her and saw her looking at Scorpius' photograph. "No..." she answered her own question quietly. "It's your cub, isn't it? Where is it now?" she asked, turning her face to the blond human.

"Please, go. Just go..." he replied. She jumped down on the floor and slowly moved to the door, but kept looking at him carefully and curiously. The hurt was so evident on his face, even if he tried to control his expression. When she left, Draco started to take deep, calm breaths, in order to keep control over himself and not to start hyperventilating. His hands were shaking. He couldn't even talk about Scorpius to anyone, because the pain was unimaginable. He didn't know where his boy was and every single day and night he was going insane from pain and worry...

~*O*~

It took a couple of weeks to clean the library, including windows, all the furniture, several magical globes, both terrestrial and celestial (some of them were very old and two of them were quite big), telescopes, three huge cut-glass chandeliers, pictures on the walls and all the grumbling busts of the wizarding writers that weren't pleased to be cleaned in muggle way. Harry magically cleaned the ceiling and the walls that were too high; and even if Draco found a way to get there, it would've been dangerous for him. In the end, the library looked magnificent, and Draco started to clean the other abandoned rooms. He even restored the old collection of daggers. Most of them were beautiful; some had pommels or scabbards decorated with gemstones; several had engravings in Latin or just engraved patterns right on their blades. Draco found the recipe of the potion to clear the rust from the blades and restore the steel as much as possible, so he brewed it, and then cleaned and polished the silver scabbards and handles with toothpaste, because he hadn't found anything else to take care of silver and there were no required ingredients to brew the potion for it. Toothpaste was suitable for that task, though. In the same way he cleaned the silver frames of some pictures and other silver items, including figurines, literally giving them a new life. The work wasn't that bad, considering that he was taking care of the house of his ancestors, even though it was now the house of people that did not belong here at all, but, thanks to Sirius Black, owned it. But Draco liked this part of the house, still unchanged by the new inhabitants. After all, his mother had spent her childhood and youth here. Some things reminded him of her.

~*O*~

Harry always tried to be polite and respectful to Draco; always thanked him for all the work, saying that he would have never found time. He made sure that the blond was doing no more than a minimum of work to satisfy the curse. He magically cleaned Draco's expensive clothes that during his work usually were the white, silk button down shirt, with normally rolled up sleeves, and the black trousers, knowing that the blond didn't have many clothes. He cleaned it every day when Draco finished his work. And just before he set to work, Harry always protected his airway by casting the appropriate spell. Its effect lasted for enough hours and prevented the blond from inhaling the dust.

Harry brought him his food himself and had even learned Draco's preferences. For example, he knew that Draco liked soups, cold milk, apples, grapes, most salads, toasts with jam or honey, and some other things. At the same time, Draco didn't eat much and often left some food, sometimes even a good half of it, untouched. His lack of appetite was, most likely, because of his emotional state, but there was nothing Harry could do about it. It was probably the curse that urged him to eat, or he wouldn't have had any energy to do his work. Harry wasn't sure the blond would have eaten at all, otherwise; though he couldn't be sure about it. All he really knew was that Draco was severely depressed. He was doing all the work automatically; it was obvious.

Sometimes Semiramis made him company, a silent one; but mostly she was enjoying the opportunity to explore the rooms she hadn't seen before, because they'd been locked. She wasn't very talkative. Most of the time she behaved like a simple feline, a lazy one, who often thought that speaking with humans or paying them any attention was beneath her. Like most catlike creatures, she seemed to be enjoying sunspots, and like most cats (though, she physically was only a half-cat, theoretically) she often had symptoms that resembled narcolepsy. Draco could sometimes hear her indignation, as she was sitting on a windowsill, looking outside at the people leading dogs on leashes. She called for Bastet's anger to fall upon the 'filthy creatures', 'foetid mutts' and their 'blasphemous' owners. It seemed she was mostly talking to herself, but it was amusing to listen to her blistering tirades about the uselessness and filthiness of dogs. It was really amusing when it wasn't getting too far and becoming annoying.

Very soon Draco found out that there was another pet in the house; it was just a domestic Siamese cat Meow (Draco hoped that it was Potter's son who had named the cat, because he just couldn't imagine a grown up person coming up with something this... oddly simple). The cat quickly warmed up to the new inhabitant of the house (without any effort from Draco himself) and often came to sleep in his room. The feline was very eager to share its warmth, curling up against Draco's side or back, and its purrs lulled the blond to sleep. At the same time, Meow was an independent creature and most of their communication happened on his, feline's, terms. Draco decided that it was rather understandable that some people considered animals as much better companions than humans.

He hardly saw anyone, except for Potter. Even when Harry returned to his work and was away for the most part of his workdays, he left Draco enough food each morning before leaving the house. Some food had the sustained warming charm around it, so it wouldn't get cold.

~*O*~

More than two months had passed since Draco had started working in the house. Each room had been cleaned thoroughly, so it wasn't such a big problem now to keep those rooms in order. It meant that the time when Draco could stay away from Potter's family and hide in one of those rooms had ended. And eventually he found himself washing dishes in the kitchen. Kitchen always needed cleaning, as well as the dining room, where the children often made a mess. What of kitchen, both Potter and his wife liked cooking. There were always dirty kitchen utensils after cooking and dirty dishes after meals. It seemed that Potter's wife purposely left Draco as much mess to clean as she could during her cooking. _'The bitch.'_

Once, when the curse wasn't satisfied with the amount of work Draco had done, Potter asked him to lay the table before supper. When he returned, he couldn't hold back a quiet, good-natured chuckle. The table looked a bit too lavish for a simple supper. Draco glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"It's very beautiful, Draco, but next time, um... make it a bit simpler," Harry said carefully, smiling slightly. He didn't want to offend the blond.

"Of course, Master," Draco replied in several moments, but his tone made Harry think that it was as good as if he'd said: 'I always knew you were uncultured pigs.' It made Harry smile again. He liked to see some rebelliousness and obstinacy in Draco's demeanour, even if they weren't quite obvious. For example, he kept calling Harry 'Master' just to spite him, to rub it in his face. Long ago Harry had asked not to call him that, but Draco persisted even though the curse had punished him for that. And, after all, it wasn't against the rules. On the contrary, it was who Harry was, - Draco's master, whatever Harry thought of it.

~*O*~

Draco had found out some more details about the curse. For example, it wasn't satisfied when he was cleaning his room or bathroom that only he used. It didn't consider such things as a part of his daily work, though it, fortunately, didn't mind. The curse wasn't a puppeteer, but it was an unforgiving slave driver, and Draco often felt its discouraging warning when it didn't like something, even Draco's thoughts full of hatred about his masters. Draco was once punished with acute pain when in his thoughts he very vividly wished Potter's wife to fall and break her neck. The curse once punished him severely for taking the book from library without permission from his masters. The odious curse considered it stealing! The pain, comparable with Cruciatus, made Draco scream at the top of his lungs and, as Potter ran to him, he seemed to quickly realise what was wrong, seeing the blond sitting on his knees on the floor in pain with the book lying next to him. Potter verbally permitted Draco to take everything he needed for his personal use, including any book from the library. It satisfied the curse and it stopped the torture. But Draco felt so defeated and irate that he stormed away to his room, leaving the book on the floor and ignoring Potter's stupid words of comfort. That incident, however, spared Draco the necessity of asking for something he really needed. He hated to ask for anything from his owners. Now he could just take books. Not that he was reading a lot these days. His tired, bitter and often numb mind didn't let him concentrate on reading, anyway.

There were other things he unintentionally found out, without being really interested. Granger was now actually a Weasley, because she'd married Ronald Weasley about a year ago. Not that it was a surprise. It had been so nauseatingly predictable, it was a given. Weasel was a keeper for the Chudley Cannons team, and they didn't see each other often, because he was at the peak of his career, and Granger (well, Weasley...) was at work nearly twenty four, seven. She was now in the opposition, fighting against the ways of the current government. At first Weasel had started the auror training with Potter, but then he had suddenly changed his mind and got the job proposal from Cannons. Potter had got one, too, but refused, not wishing to be away from his son (when he'd actually had only one son), especially given that his wife was into Quidditch, too, and had dedicated a lot of time to it before having the second offspring. But, despite the lack of time, the stupid Golden Trio still consisted of best friends. Why, of course, they were all family now, after all.

~*O*~

The blond had long accepted his hopeless, humiliating situation, even though, occasionally, some things made him want to shout at somebody; such as Potter's elder spawn that had suddenly decided that he could order Draco around. It was Potter's wife's doing, because the annoying spawn parroted her. Potter himself never ordered anything in such a manner. It always sounded more like he _**asked**_ Draco to do something. But the brat quickly learned that Draco was there to do what he was told. For example, several times when the blond was busy about the kitchen, the little shit _**demanded**_ sweets (usually before meals), since he couldn't ask one of his parents, knowing that it was useless. He insistently pointed his small index finger in the direction of the sideboard that contained biscuits and sweets, because he was too small to reach it, and loudly demanded to give it to him. It could last for around half an hour and it was noisy. As Draco always ignored the brat (usually clenching his jaws to prevent himself from saying something that wasn't meant for the ears of a child), Al was stamping his little feet in frustration. At least, the curse never punished Draco for this. When Potter finally witnessed one of those tantrums accidentally, he put his pouting spawn in the corner for an hour and deprived him of any sweets for a week after the educational talk. It worked and Draco was almost ready to thank him. The brat even asked forgiveness later, but Draco ignored him once again.

But the most annoying thing was the visits of Potter's friends and his family, namely Weasleys. It would have been unbearable, but Potter, fortunately, wasn't a complete imbecile, and could imagine how Draco felt among them, so he always allowed him to stay in his room or to tidy up one of the rooms as far away from their parties as possible, even if everybody knew about him and his position in this house. In fact, Harry was afraid that someone would say something insulting to Draco, gloat and remind him about their rivalry at school, when the blond was at his most vulnerable. Harry knew that some people hadn't grown up enough to keep their mouths shut about Malfoy's situation. And Harry was holding on to the illusion of peace in his house. As much as he didn't like to see the blond this subdued, he also didn't want to provoke any conflicts that, in turn, would provoke the curse to punish Draco. He hadn't even acknowledged Draco's birthday on the fifth of June, just knowing that it would have ended badly. He wasn't comfortable about it, but he knew he'd done the right thing.

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_**A/N: If you're curious what Semiramis looks like, look for the picture of the sculpture of the right Greek Sphinx on the Northern perron of the "Empain" castle in Belgium. Just type it in your browser and, I'm sure, you'll find it. I just love that sculpture! The left one doesn't have that pretty, enigmatic face (in my opinion, of course), so look for the right one :).**_

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_**PLEASE, REVIEW!**_


	5. Casibus Fractus

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

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**I'm so happy to read your reviews, guys**; makoslits (thanks so much for reading and reviewing ;) ), Paper Angels (But it's Harry, so... ;) Thank you for your review!), Saiph (You're right, it's reversible, but I think it's easy to guess what happens to the person that has been under such kind of curse for too long. Quite a foul thing. Thanks for commenting :) ), Lientjuhh (I'm so glad you like it :). Thank you!), MDarKspIrIt (Thanks :)! Umm... I don't know if you could call it interaction, but... I hope you're going to like it, anyway :)), Poisoned Flowers (Thank you!), LeStrange (thanks! Good to know you liked all of them :) ), Aquarinus (I hope it's just your cleverness, not my predictability that makes you think so :P. Thank you!), (I'm very glad that you've found it in my story!), anon (Hahahaha! Glad it was useful, not only entertaining :P. Thanks for reviewing!), YaoiCrazyGurlz (Thanks a lot for your comment! I promise I'm going to mention him a lot and soon you're going to start learning his story. He's a very important part), LOCA (Thank you! Good to know!), PrinceOfPariahs (I'm doing my best, thank you!), gunsAndROSES2656 (Thank you so much! Enjoy :) ).

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_**5. Casibus Fractus**_

~*O*~

Harry thought about the blond more often than it seemed normal and acceptable. For almost three months of having Draco in his house, he still couldn't bring himself to simply talk to him. When he finally picked the day (it was his day off), Draco was making the light cleaning in the library, just to prevent it from becoming a dusty chaos again. Harry entered quietly and sat down in one of the armchairs, randomly taking one of the books for appearances' sake.

"Do you mind if I spend some time here with you?" he asked.

"It's your house," was the cold answer.

For the next hour or so Harry was pretending to read the book, trying to summon up not only his courage, but also the right words to say. He was covertly watching Draco, who was now quite familiar with how to maintain order and keep the house tidy. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the white, gentle looking hands, and wondered what it would have felt like to touch them, what it would have felt like to be touched by them.

Yes, he tended to keep some secrets even from himself, he'd done it for years, after all. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to himself, but it seemed it was starting again... The obsession. It had _**already**_ started again. He made desperate attempts to read Draco's face, his every gesture, like back in Hogwarts, back in their sixth year. But still he found no opportunity and solution to make Draco feel better, to make his life better, to say the right words. Just like their sixth year...

He quietly left the library before Draco finished the cleaning, once again failing to start the talk.

~*O*~

He flooed home after work, knowing that Ginny and their kids were still in the Burrow, visiting Molly and Arthur, so he intended to have some food and sleep for a couple of hours. He stopped on the threshold of the kitchen, as the picture of tranquillity met him. Semiramis was lying on the windowsill, half-napping and purring, looking very peaceful and relaxed. Draco was sitting at the table with almost equally relaxed expression. There was the pleasant scent of bergamot orange, and Draco looked like he was enjoying it, inhaling it from his cup of Earl Grey. Harry decided that it was Draco's favourite or one of his favourites. It was the first time he saw Draco enjoying something since the blond had settled down in this house. Perhaps, it was finally the right moment to talk to him. But, once Draco turned his face and saw Harry on the threshold, the relaxed demeanour evaporated, the tension returned to his shoulders and sharpened his features.

Harry made himself a cup of tea, too, and sat at the table across from the blond, who tried to pretend that Harry wasn't there and to keep enjoying his tea.

"Draco... I've been trying to talk to you for quite a long time," he began softly, leaving himself no way to retreat now. The blond didn't look back, but he was obviously listening. "I'm sorry for everything. It was too late when I realised that you'd been a hostage of the situation in our sixth year. I'm sorry for hurting you back then. I'm sorry you've been through so much. I just wanted you to know... You probably still think that I... that I bought you to find a way to hurt you, to humiliate you, but you're wrong. I'm terribly ashamed for making you my slave; I never wanted anything like this. I just wanted to protect you from those who could really hurt you. I know they are wrong, I know you're not a bad person. In some sense you're a better person than I am, because you've come through the war without killing anyone. I wish I could say the same for me. The point is... I don't know what you think, but you're here only to wait till the madness is over. We'll find a way to emancipate you."

"Why, of course, Master," Draco suddenly said with the voice full of sarcasm. At the same time Harry saw his hand, which was still holding the cup of tea, shaking. "I'm at the mercy of such do-gooders that have brought the world to peace and happiness, so I can just sleep well and be endlessly grateful." He put the cup on the table. His anger and nervousness were growing steadily; he was becoming dangerously overfilled with pernicious emotions that had been resting inside for quite a long time. Fuck, he'd been living with it for months and it had been under control, he'd been resigned; but now Potter just had had to open his fucking mouth!

"You're being unfair," Harry whispered. "All I want is to help you."

"I don't remember asking for your help," Draco almost hissed.

"You'd really make it better if you were a bit more cooperative," Harry said, though quickly realised that he was only aggravating the situation. Semiramis was looking at him curiously and sceptically.

"You want me to be cooperative?" Draco fired up and was immediately on his feet, moving away from the table. "You, all of you, fucking mudbloods, have destroyed the world, my world, the pureblood traditions; you even allowed the thing that hadn't been allowed in this world for Merlin knows how long - slavery! Your fucking aurors, _**your**_ aurors, killed my father when he was trying to surrender! I saw my mother, my proud mother, begging for his life on her knees, debasing herself! They laughed at her, saying that death was the only mercy they deserved! So they just killed them both!" he shouted. Tears sprang from his eyes. "In their report, I'm sure, they wrote that evil Malfoys had been killed whilst resisting arrest," he chuckled slightly, but it was as bitter as wormwood. And then, to Harry's shock, Draco started to sob, shaking all over. Harry knew that the bloody curse was punishing him for disrespect right now, but the blond was already too hurt, so he hardly even paid attention to it. "They took my child away from me, snatched him out of my arms! He was my world!" he cried, nearly doubling over from all the pain. "Some bastard fucked me like a slut for a couple of... of Galleons he'd given to the guard. Don't you fucking dare tell me _**what**_'s unfair! Want me to be cooperative, _**Master**_? I'll hate you forever! Every day I'm going to pray all the gods to make you and your friends suffer and die! I can't hurt you, but, if you know what's good for you, you better stop waiting for me to be 'cooperative', because it's fucking stupid of you. I'm your enemy! Forever!" In the end his words were the growl out of the depths of his throat. Tears streamed down his face; tears, full of pain and pure anger. He seemed to stop fully realising what exactly he was saying. "You're right, I've never killed anyone in my life, but I would've poisoned your entire family and made you watch! And then I would've gladly stabbed you with the knife to death! I want your wife to rot in hell! You're fucking bastard! My life doesn't cost a fucking thing! They've practically turned me into a squib. My body is filthy. Even my soul has been sold to you, so I couldn't have cared less if I had blood on my hands or finally killed myself! And yet, some fucking hero wants to save me! Fuck you with your idea of cooperativeness! Fuck you!" he yelled and finally stormed out, sobbing and wailing, and reeling slightly. Harry was appalled. He'd never seen anyone in such a state before. Because of shock he hardly felt tears on his own face. Semiramis jumped down on the floor and was following the blond slave with her eyes, looking confused. She turned her face to her owner for a moment, just to see him stunned and helpless.

Draco hardly remembered how he'd made it from the kitchen down to his room. He hurt, he hated, he raged. It felt like a big poisonous spider inside his chest that crawled around and stung, and stung, and stung him inside, puncturing his flesh and soul, tuning it into a bloody mess, killing it slowly. The metaphorical spider punctured his lungs, so he could hardy breathe. Very tightly it spun his stung, bleeding heart in its web. The web threads cut into the pulsing muscle. The pain won over all other feelings, eventually, and Draco was on his knees with his forehead pressed against the side of the bed. Nothing could ease it. Nothing...

Only an hour later Harry made himself go down to Draco's room. He approached the closed door just to hear the loud sobs. They made his heart hurt. He helplessly sat down on the floor outside and pressed his back against the door. He was here to share the hurt, even if Draco didn't know about it, even if he didn't need it. Harry let himself drown in the blonde's pain, let it pour into him.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Scorpius! I failed you! I'm a coward... My baby!" Draco wailed heartbrokenly. It wasn't Potter, it was himself he hated right now. He'd allowed his scared boy to be taken away. Draco's narrow shoulders shuddered violently with each pained sob. Crying was choking him and when he tried to inhale, he only managed erratic gasps. Muscle spasms didn't let him relax as his body shuddered in harsh convulsions. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was a pitiable show if anyone saw it, but he didn't really care. The loud, torn, throaty cry escaped him and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, still on his knees, as if trying to keep himself from tearing apart completely. At the same time, the photograph of his Scorpius was pressed against his chest. It was all he had; all he'd been left from his little boy. Wailing inconsolably, he was rocking back and forth.

Every human being had its limits, and it seemed he'd reached his own. He'd never cried like this, even when things had been really bad. Maybe he hadn't been made strong enough to live like this, so it would've been better to end it? The curse wouldn't let him, of course, but he didn't know how else he could end this pain. He couldn't take it anymore and he couldn't stop the pain from tearing him like a rag doll.

"Scorpius, I'm so sorry!.." he cried to the deaf, lonely emptiness, where were no happy smiles, no little hands, reaching out to him. There was nothing...

Meanwhile, Harry heard it all and it was breaking his heart. He suddenly thought he could use the privileges of a master and _**make**_ Draco calm down, influencing his emotions, but the thought was sickening. He would have never forgiven himself for such an act of violation. So he was just sitting there...

The anguished wails didn't stop for another hour and then it gradually became quiet. Harry waited for fifteen more minutes and entered tentatively, just to make sure Draco was okay after such a horrible nervous breakdown, though he knew very well that Draco was very far from being okay. The blond had apparently cried himself to sleep, had exhausted himself. His arms were wrapped around his own body; the framed picture of his baby was pressed against his chest. His face was still wet, pink and puffy from tears; his head was resting on the edge of the bed. Harry carefully levitated him onto the bed, took his shoes off and covered him with the blanket. He put Scorpius' picture on the bedside table, on its usual place. Harry made sure Draco was warm and comfortable. With the lump in his throat he thought that the blond looked like an angel of sorrow, destroyed by humankind. Even in his sleep he looked sad and broken. And he suddenly seemed very young.

Harry had known that the peace had been weak, and that it would've ended, eventually, but he'd never imagined it ending like this. Merlin, it had only taken Harry's attempt to talk civilly. Why? Why had it ended like this? Why had it triggered the hell to break loose?

Harry had known that the blond had gone though many dehumanising ordeals (being sold into slavery was undoubtedly one, just like serving to Voldemort against his will, not to let the monster kill his entire family), but he'd had no idea it had been_** that**_ terrible! He had no reason to think that Draco had been lying, no matter how much he would have preferred not to believe all of it. He sighed, looking at the sleeping blond again. Draco had been victimised.., raped. How hadn't Harry seen it before? The way Draco had hated anyone even standing too close to him...

Harry couldn't just let it all go, it was out of question. But having no details, it would be hard to press any charges. It would be ridiculous to even try to talk to Draco about it. For having that kind of conversation the blond had to trust him to start with, but, obviously, there was no such thing as trust on Draco's side. The blond trusted nobody at all; on the contrary, it now occurred to Harry that everyone was an enemy in Draco's opinion. It seemed the entire world from his point of view consisted of murderers, slavers, rapists, child abductors, corrupted aurors and politicians, and of everyone who had destroyed the world Draco had known; the one where he'd been born and raised. No, there was no way to interrogate him. Harry could only count on insults or another breakdown, which was nothing helpful for neither of them. The traitorous thoughts of spiking Draco's drink with Veritaserum or simply ordering him to tell everything he wanted to know were immediately brushed aside. Such things wouldn't make him any better than those who had violated the blond, even if he hated Harry all the same. Draco had made it quite clear that he hated him.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. "I don't mind if you hate me; just be okay... But you're not okay. Of course, you're not. I'll try to make it up for you even if it's hardly possible," Harry whispered. He sighed, deciding that his monologue hardly made much sense.

With a heavy heart he left the blond to sleep.

~*O*~

Even since before buying Draco, Harry had been trying to find out if Draco's little boy was, at least, safe, but he'd failed to get any information about the child. Originally, he'd even had a plan to take Draco home after buying him, and Scorpius would've already been waiting for him here, in this house. Alas, it had failed. Somewhere on the way through the Department Of Childhood Protection the boy's traces had been lost. People just shrugged helplessly, saying that there was a chance the boy had been transferred to a foreign orphanage, because there was no Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy in British orphanages. Why the hell anyone would have done it, Harry had no idea, and people kept shrugging, giving no answers. It just felt wrong that not only the boy was away from his parent, but also, possibly, away from his homeland (even though he had probably been born in France); and it was outrageous that no one had any idea about the child's whereabouts, not to mention his wellbeing. One of Harry's colleagues, who had been asked to make inquires, had even expressed the opinion that the child was dead, most likely, and someone, who'd failed to keep the boy safe, tried to hide that fact by letting some files 'disappear'. It really made sense, but Harry didn't want to believe it. No, he just couldn't believe it. If it was possible to die of a broken heart, such news about his son would definitely kill Draco, destroy him, raze his entire world to the ground. _'They took my child away from me, snatched him out of my arms! He was my world!'_ Harry wasn't going to share such news, especially given that he wasn't certain about it at all.

~*O*~

Ginny and the children were fast asleep after their return from the Burrow, but Harry couldn't get a wink of sleep, so he got up with a tired sigh and left the room silently, not to wake his wife up. After he had a glass of water in the kitchen, his feet brought him downstairs to Draco's room. He knocked quietly, but gained no response. The door was slightly ajar, so he decided that Draco had probably woken up. But when he entered tentatively, he saw that the blond was sleeping in the same position as Harry had left him. Meow was probably the one who had set the door ajar, whilst entering the room. Harry hadn't closed the curtains around the bed, so he could see that the cat was sleeping next to Draco's feet, but the feline opened his blue eyes slightly, as Harry had entered. Meow had fallen into the habit of sleeping in Draco's room, especially since the blond had started working in the kitchen and often was the one who fed the feline.

The Siamese cat yawned widely and went back to sleep. Harry was about to leave, but noticed that Draco's hair looked lustreless and slightly wet, therefore, a little bit darker than their normal platinum blond colour. He couldn't see the blonde's face, because it was turned to the wall, the way Harry had placed him. He came closer and saw that the pale face was wet with sweat. Draco was breathing with a slight effort and it worried Harry. He touched the pillow near Draco's head. It was soaked in sweat! The blond definitely had a fever. Tentatively, Harry touched his face and it nearly burned his fingers. Without wasting any time, he headed to the living room and firecalled to St. Mungo's.

The mediwizard arrived quite soon and Harry quickly showed him to Draco's room. He waited outside, but the door was half open (just in case).

"How is he?" Harry blurted out before the man even had a chance to open his mouth, exiting the room.

"Better. I administered several potions, but he's still asleep and he should rest. He needs, at least, several days of rest cure, and make him drink a lot of liquid," the portly man replied.

"He... He had a... breakdown," Harry said quietly.

"Here's the prescription," the healer said, giving him the piece of parchment. "There's also a good calming potion amongst the other things he needs. Give it to him in small doses, but thrice a day, just like I've prescribed." Harry looked down at the parchment. The handwriting was appalling, hardly readable. He nearly chuckled, not for the fist time thinking that muggle doctors and wizarding healers really had something in common. He hoped that apothecaries would be able to read it.

"Thank you. Is he going to be okay?" he asked.

"Yes. But you should know that slaves are getting ill quite often, Mister Potter. They catch cold pretty often or become easily infected. I've treated the slave once," the man said. Harry didn't know if he liked that the healer was straightforward enough to use the word 'slave', which, by the most people, was usually replaced with something that sounded more careful and 'less barbaric'. Harry never liked it and never understood; slaves were slaves, after all, and there was no reason to embellish the reality. As he looked at the healer carefully, he saw that the man used the word without disdain or prejudices, which meant he could be trusted with his job; at least, it seemed so. But now Harry was more concerned about what he'd just heard.

"I didn't know... Why?"

"There's a myth that they contribute to the health of their masters. There is some evidence, but personally I don't believe it. But I know for a fact that the curse that binds a slave to his or her master weakens a slave's immune system."

"I see..."

"I'll visit my patient within two days, but you may firecall me anytime," the healer said before leaving.

Harry went upstairs to get dressed, then left the house and disapparated to the part of wizarding London where, as he knew, was one of twenty-four-hour apothecaries. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, anyway. The cool air, however, was a pleasant distraction. No, there was no way he'd be able to sleep now. There was definitely too much information; from what Draco had told him about his terrible trials to his current unexpected illness, developed in the twinkling of an eye (all right, it was probably a couple oh hours, but still rather quickly), and the healer's words about the fragility of slaves' health. No one had warned him about it!

As he returned home with all the required potions and explanations to them (written by his own hand this time), he checked Draco's condition once again. As far as his auror skills allowed, he cast several diagnostic spells that made him aware that Draco's body temperature still wasn't normal, but it was much better. Harry cleaned and dried the bed and did the same to the unconscious body, hoping that the discomfort wasn't too much to feel it through the sleep. Draco only winced slightly. Harry carefully changed him into his pyjama, doing it with his mind wandering somewhere else, because he thought it was the only way to make it fair for the blond; and it didn't matter that said blond was sleeping. Harry deliberately ignored the feeling of his fingers slightly brushing against the heated skin accidentally in the process. He wasn't even looking. He decided not to cover Draco with a blanket to cool him down, but the blond even through his sleep looked uncomfortable about it, probably feeling rigour, despite the outward heat of his body. He really looked like he was feeling cold. Or he probably needed to be covered for a comfort. Harry decided to compromise and covered the curled up body with the sheet. It seemed to have worked, so the blond plunged into a deeper slumber, due to the heat exhaustion and because Harry had stopped disturbing his sleep.

Only once, almost in the morning, Harry woke him up at his own risk, just to give him some water and potions. Draco was still half-asleep and, surprisingly, there was no resistance at all; on the contrary, he looked quite thirsty and drank the water greedily. He even took the potions before drinking some more. Everything was done with Harry's great help. Harry wondered if the blond was even aware of the fact that it was his loathed owner who was taking care of him. He doubted it. Very soon Draco was asleep again.

Several hours later he firecalled Hermione and told her everything, because he just needed a friend to talk to, and her support.

"Is it true, Mione? What that healer told me, it's true, isn't it?"

"There are rumours, indeed. But that binding curse is quite new. The issue isn't studied enough, so it's open to question. I always thought that those deaths and health problems were the consequence of bad conditions and harsh treatment, and most of them were, I'm sure of it, so I can't answer, Harry."

"Fucking great; they use curses that are not entirely proven. They use them on people."

"If it's true, it wouldn't surprise me. And Harry... If you need my help with your investigation of what happened to Malfoy and his family, I'll do my best to help."

"Thank you..."

~*O*~

He took several days off to take care of Draco. It felt a bit unusual that the blond allowed him to feed him a little, to help him drink, to give him potions. He even never protested when Harry had to touch him, helping him to sit up. On the other hand, Draco didn't seem entirely conscious most of the time, still too weak even to properly realise what was going on. His compliance could also be partly a result of being given the calming potion. Being Draco's owner allowed Harry to make the curse not to bother the blond and let him rest while he was so ill.

But, in addition to that, Harry started his own investigation to find the people that belonged to Azkaban.

"Are you sure it's wise to arouse such a scandal?" the auror captain of his unit asked. The new Ministry had decided that they had to increase auror force by recruiting more people. There were more auror offices now, therefore, more aurors. Unfortunately, the quantity and the quality were two _**very**_ different things. Harry missed Shacklebolt, who had retired after the severe injury. He'd known how to keep order among his aurors. Stephen Barrett, Harry's captain, wasn't a bad man, and he could be trusted, but he didn't possess enough zeal, in Harry's opinion. It was quite a short, tired and aging man with a very undistinguished appearance.

"Am I sure I want rapists and murderers to rot in Azkaban? Yes, I'm bloody damn sure," Harry replied cheekily. He just couldn't react any other way. The older wizard remained impassive.

"I hope you understand that we can't use any word of Malfoy as evidence. As a slave he has no right to make a testimony," Barrett reminded.

"We can do without it. I already have all the names of those who took part in killing Malfoys. There are five of them. All the other aurors were outside the house, strengthening the anti-apparition wards and making sure no one would escape, as they'd been ordered to. Those five entered and killed Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, making it look like Malfoys had refused to surrender and attacked them. Even if it was true, and it _**wasn't**_, they could have stunned Malfoys, but, no, they killed them, making it look like an accident. Accidents happen sometimes, you and I know it very well. But both Malfoys in one day? It looks very suspicious."

"It's true. But what are you going to do? You can't just press charges against the other auror, having no basic evidence."

"I want them to be interrogated under Veritaserum. It's so easy that no other evidence is required. God, is it necessary to complicate everything?"

"You know you can't do it without a warrant. And I cannot give you one, not without having some evidence, at least. No one in the Wizengamot is going to take your guesswork for a fact. You have my support, but I don't think I can be helpful. My position is not high enough to permit anything like this."

As much as Harry hated it, it meant he had to discuss it with the minister. He sent the owl to set up an appointment with said minister and headed to make some other work.

Soon, when he was home, two owls were already waiting for him at the window of the living room. The other one, apparently, hadn't been in the mood to wait for him, so it had tore the letter off its leg, damaging the letter itself, and left in on the windowsill. Harry twiddled it in his hands with amusement. But there was nothing of importance, anyway. As he checked all his post, he was glad to find that one of the letters was from the Ministry. Unfortunately, as he'd opened it, it said that the minister was not available for a week or two, 'but the minister's counsellor and assistant Ellerete Johns would gladly help to the best of her ability.' Harry sighed in frustration. On the other hand, it was better than nothing. The appointment was already booked for tomorrow. He sighed again. It was ridiculous that there was no way to avoid the bureaucratic obstacles to punish real criminals.

~*O*~

Ellerete Johns, the woman who was about forty years old, with dark-blond hair and sharp features was carefully reading Harry's application. Hermione had made sure it was flawless. Now Harry was mentally thanking her for it, because the minister's assistant looked like she was searching for an opportunity to cavil at something. Her pupils were slowly moving behind the pair of small silver-rimmed spectacles. The long, thin silver chain was attached to the sides of them and rested on the back of her neck. It was the only jewellery she wore. It seemed a person like her would consider a pair of earrings as something inappropriate and too frivolous. It also seemed there was no speck of dust in her office and especially on her desk. Harry tried not to roll his eyes at this.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," she finally spoke. "I understand you want to... have some sort of revenge for your property, but do you understand that it means that you're going to charge the entire auror department? This is going to undermine the authority of aurors in general. You're going to make common people feel unsafe."

"They are not safe with criminals that wear the auror robes and live among them," Harry replied. It was obvious that Johns had already made the decision, and not in his favour. "I'm not going to give it up, whether you like it or not," he added stubbornly, but calmly.

"You're going to make yourself a lot of enemies. You have a family. Think about it," she warned. He couldn't believe his ears! It hadn't sounded like just a warning to him. Either it was just her manner of talking to the other people, looking down at them, or there was a hint of a threat in her words.

"Don't worry, I can take care of my family. I can also go to press and tell people the whole truth. If you want the uproar all over the country, so be it. People deserve to know about our impotent minister, who doesn't give a damn about them," he fired up. Fuck... Hermione had warned him to control his temper, but he'd remembered Draco's breakdown and failed to hold his tongue. Harry really, _**really**_ wanted to do it for Draco, who deserved some justice. And for Narcissa who had saved Harry's life. Her murderers _**had**_ to be punished, whether someone liked it or not. And Lucius... He deserved justice, too. Being murdered in cold blood wasn't one, no matter what he'd done in the past.

"Be careful, Mister Potter," the woman said sharply. "Do you seriously believe that people would disapprove the deaths of Malfoys? I don't think so. Some people would even consider it as a good turn."

"They are not above the law, and neither are you and I. Some people, a lot of people, will listen to me. I supported our current minister for his empty promises that sounded so appealing. He promised equality without any blood prejudices. I recklessly allowed using my name for him to gain more votes. I won't tolerate such a tyranny. You've done enough shit to make many other countries laugh at us. You used my name. You owe me if you don't want me to turn people against you. I just don't want to carry out any revolutions, because it would entail serious consequences for innocent people. I came here to ask for a favour, but now I _**demand**_ to give me the warrant for administering Veritaserum to several murderers. I'm going to get it one way or another," Harry assured her, trying his best not to shout.

"This must be discussed with the minister," she finally said after several moments of thinking and looking at him piercingly.

"That's what I was going to do from the start, but our minister is such a busy man," he smiled a little. The counsellor quickly left to the next room, leaving the door open in a fit of temper. She seemed to be firecalling somebody, and Harry was almost sure that she'd contacted the minister. Now he could only wait. He could hear the woman's angry hissing, but couldn't make sense of the words he heard.

She returned several minutes later and sat down at her desk again.

"The minister has allowed me to give you the warrant," Johns said, looking almost disappointed that Harry had won the argument.

As Harry had arrived home some time later, he put the rolled up piece of parchment, angrily signed by the minister's high-flown assistant and counsellor, into the drawer of his desk. He felt very pleased with himself. Tomorrow he was going to make the murderers admit everything they'd done to Malfoys. Harry's triumphant mood faded, as he thought that he had no idea who had raped Draco after he'd been arrested. Harry really needed any, just any, help from the blond, a couple of details to make a start, but it didn't seem possible to ask for anything like that. At any rate, he was going to find the bastard, eventually, and make him pay. Oh, yes, he was going to find the swine and put it behind the bars.

He suddenly heard some noise from the kitchen, and decided to check who was there, knowing that Ginny had taken the children for a walk. He was a bit aghast, as he saw Draco, hardly standing on his feet, but washing the dishes (both dirty and clean without making any difference) thoroughly, though automatically, as if there was no soul in this still ill and exhausted body. The last three days that he'd been resting in bed, he had only got up to use the toilet, and his walk was always very slow and unsteady. Harry had sometimes helped him.

"Draco, you're ill. You don't have to work before recovering," he said softly. There was no reaction other than a bit more intense scrubbing of every dish and putting them on the sideboard next to the sink with a bit more noise than necessary. At the same time, there was absolutely no expression on his face. "Draco, stop it! I order you to stop," Harry frowned. The blond just let go of the dish he'd been scrubbing so fanatically, and it almost broke as it had fallen into the sink. He stood there motionless without turning to Harry. "I'm sorry..." Harry whispered, knowing that he shouldn't have raised his voice. "All right... I want you to return to your room and lie down. Let me help you." He carefully grabbed Draco's shoulder, but let go very soon, feeling how tense the blonde's body was; it was stiff, even though the face expressed nothing at all. But still Draco headed to his room, as he'd been told to, walking mindlessly and slowly, swaying on his feet, so it seemed he was about to fall. Harry was following him to make sure it wouldn't happen. He wondered if it was that goddamned, stupid curse that, all of a sudden, had decided that the slave was fit enough to return to work, or it was one of the potions he was taking. Fucking mediwizard had probably given Draco the calming potion strong enough to make him act and look like he was completely stoned! Yes, it was either the curse, or the potion. Or the combination of both. It made Harry feel furious. Once Draco was in his bed, covered with the blanket and soon asleep, Harry took the calming potion from the blonde's room and later threw it away. He replaced it with some common Calming Draught.

~*O*~

The next several days Draco was just lying almost motionlessly. Sometimes the stubborn fever returned, but it wasn't severe, and the potions helped.

Semiramis surprisingly often spent her time in the armchair near Draco's bed. It looked like she pitied him, after witnessing his breakdown.

She told him stories about sphinxes and during these days he found out about these creatures more than any book had ever described. She told him how her kind had been enslaved by wizards once, so they could fight the other wizards, their enemies, with the help of the powerful creatures. But slavery hadn't lasted. In spite of it, however, sphinxes had often been guardians or bodyguards of humans. Later their number decreased dramatically, so 'the breeders' (she couldn't find a more appropriate word for the meddlesome humans that 'should have minded their own business') could only magically crossbreed them with kneazles to prevent sphinxes from dying out completely. It had cost sphinxes their normal size (their bodies had stopped being as big as lions'), so they'd become smaller and lost a couple of hundreds of years of their lifespan. But there was evidence that the real, original sphinxes still existed, though their number was very small.

She told him legends about Bastet and Sekhmet, and the cults of both feline goddesses. She told a lot about Bubastis and praised that ancient city that had been famous for the cult of Bastet. The feline goddess had had the magnificent temple there, so people could honour her. It had been a centre of worship for Bastet, and people had even had the feast of Bastet, celebrated all over the city.

Semiramis told about the battle of Pelusium between Egyptians and Persians when Persians, in order to win the battle, had carried cats with them as shields, knowing that Egyptians would have rather lost a battle than hurt the animals during the fight. They had lost and endured the terrible sufferings, but had remained loyal to what they'd considered sacred.

She told about two large cats that drew the chariot of Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility and beauty, and sometimes of war and death.

In some periods of history cats had been considered as a symbol of good luck. For example, the fishermen's wives had kept the black cats in their houses, believing that it would protect their husbands from drowning in the sea and let them come back home safely. In the other periods, cats, especially the black ones, had been considered as incarnations of the devil; therefore, they'd been killed by burning, sometimes together with their owners that had been condemned for the heresy and witchcraft, which hardly ever been justified. That had entailed the plague epidemics, because the human cities had been flooded by rats, since there'd been no cats to destroy them. Semiramis highly approved such things, saying that humans had, undoubtedly, brought it on themselves. Some religions, such as Orthodoxy, on the contrary, considered cats as a good sign, even when they entered churches and temples. Such difference in human opinions confused Semiramis, but she liked to talk about it. Somehow she'd found out that the muggle scientists had supposedly discovered that the cat's purr was helpful in healing, especially in mending the broken bones sooner than normal. She confirmed it.

As for the wizarding world, she also knew plenty of legends and historical facts about cats, kneazles, sphinxes and other creatures that had something to do with cats. She believed that a cat was the best choice of a power animal for a witch or a wizard, and gave a lot of noteworthy examples. Semiramis considered cats and catlike creatures, especially intelligent ones and ancient ones, as creatures that had to be worshipped, as they once had been. She had her own theory about the superiority of cats over the great majority of the other creatures.

No one had actually heard her talking so much before. It seemed she enjoyed speaking, uninterrupted, and being listened without any arguing. Draco was too ill to listen to her avidly, but he listened, anyway. Not only the magical creature possessed some memory of her ancestors, genetically inherited, but her magical voice, however sounding like nothing really special, allowed a listener to sink deep into her stories and very vividly imagine everything she was talking about. In his sometimes not entirely conscious condition Draco felt like he visited ancient Egypt, Greece, Northern countries, Medieval Europe and many other places the sphinx described; he saw pharaohs, priests, warriors, kings, many wizards and witches of the past, including the dark ones; he saw healers, sailors, musicians and other people. And, of course, cats, sphinxes and kneazles. A lot of them. It almost distracted Draco from the unappealing reality, where he was lonely, unhappy, bitter and ill. Sometimes the sphinx's voice was the only thing that he was aware of. She, however, could easily fall asleep right in the middle of one of her stories, or whenever she felt like it; but then, after a good, short nap, she continued, though sometimes needed to remember where she'd stopped before falling asleep.

Harry was thankful, because the sphinx's company seemed to soothe and distract Draco, so there were no more incidents with mindless wandering about the house and trying to do some household chores. She even often accompanied him to the bathroom when he was getting up with an effort. She waited outside and then guided him back to his room, so he wouldn't lose his way, which had happened a couple of times before. She was just telling him to follow her, and he followed. It meant Harry could concentrate on the other things without worrying too much every time he had to leave. And, fortunately, Draco's health started to restore.

~*O*~

Meanwhile, five people had already been interrogated under Veritaserum, and awaited their trials for the planned murder of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and several other ex-Death Eaters. They also had other malfeasances just as Harry had expected. He was pleased, because the prosecutor had no prejudices about Malfoys (Hermione and Harry had chosen him personally), and was really determined to put the murderers in Azkaban. When the captain of their unit had offered not to make noise of this case and just to dismiss them from the auror force without any possibility to reinstate them later, and to give them a couple of years of probation, the prosecutor hadn't even let him finish his offer. No, he was going to put them in Azkaban. The press media already knew a lot of facts about this case, so the reporters couldn't wait for the trial, too. They also were very persistent in their attempts to talk to Harry, who, as usual, just avoided them.

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	6. Learning More about You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

Talis Ruadair (You describe quite a tricky plot :). Everything is simpler. What of the minister, he's just a lazy, selfish man, that's all. Draco's illness is just a result of his breakdown. Thanks a lot for your comment :)! I hope you're going to enjoy the next chapter; it has some answers), Koiame (Thank you so much! :) Enjoy!), sun (Thanks for reviewing! :) ), Maureen (I'm very, very flattered and happy that you enjoy reading my stories! :) Thank you!), Holiday498 (Thanks so much :) !), Lientjuhh (Thank you!), Paper Angels (Yes, he was holding back for too long. Thanks for your review!), LeStrange (Thank you!), makoslits (Thanks for reviewing! :) ), PrinceOfPariahs (Haha! Thank you for squealing!), harry and draco belong to each other (Thanks! New chapter is right here!), PoisonedFlowers (Oh, yes, she is! Thanks!), Aquarinus (Thank you!), crazy pony (Thanks! Gryffindors are persistent, aren't they? ;) ). **Thank you, guys!**

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_**6. Learning More about You**_

~*O*~

Harry entered the holding cell where Draco had been kept. It was empty right now, and, as Harry had been told, only one prisoner had occupied it after Draco. Even if there had been any signs of committed crime, they were long gone. Clean pillowcase, blanket and sheet were folded on the edge of the bed, the mattress was rolled up. He couldn't even be sure if it had really happened right here.

He knew that there were eight guards, responsible for keeping order in this long corridor. They worked in shifts, and there were always two of them at work. Covertly Harry watched each one of them. They all looked, more or less, decent. All had families, most had children. When he scrutinised their files, he only found two incidents of misconduct; one of the guard had turned up at work tipsy and had been sent home. It had happened twice and the second time had put him on the verge of losing his job. But both times had happened more than a year ago. All in all, all eight of them were considered good workers. But Harry knew it wasn't as unclouded as it seemed. One of them had been paid for an access to Draco's cell; according to Draco's hysterical words, anyway. Harry didn't really have any particular reason not to believe Draco, but the blond had probably gained this information from the rapist, so Harry couldn't be sure of its reliability. On the other hand, how else could anyone just unlock the door of the cell and enter unnoticed by the guards? Gods... Draco knew all of it, or some of it, in any case. Just a couple of Draco's words could clear it up. But Harry had already decided not to bother the blond with it. It would only hurt him, and it was the last thing Harry wanted. After all, Draco was recovering, and nothing had to ruin it for him. Harry was quite accustomed that nothing was easy for him.

Finding nothing useful at all, Harry decided to use the spell he _**really**_ didn't enjoy using. It made walls earn ears. Figuratively. It meant that for a day Harry was going to hear everything that was going to take place in this corridor. He hated the spell, because it made the caster unable to fully concentrate on their real surroundings. It was like hearing two different songs simultaneously, with no way to turn the volume down. He had nothing important to do in a few days, so he decided to use it, though he was quite sceptical about it. It wasn't like he hoped to hear the guards joyfully discussing that one of them had done something bad enough to be locked inside one of these cells.

And he was right. He cast the spell for four days on end, earned himself a terrible headache and another argument with Ginny for not hearing her when she'd told him something several times. All of it was to no avail. How on earth was he going to find the bastard? All possible ways were against the law. Of course, he could take the guilty guard by surprise, make him nervous, but if the scoundrel had nerves of steel, Harry only risked making him warn the rapist somehow to keep a low profile for some time. But there was nothing else he could think of. He had to provoke the bribed guard. All eight of them had something to lose: job, family, so provocation could happen to be a good option.

~*O*~

The owl delivered a note when the young, but tired man was leaving the building after his shift.

_Dear Mr Stephenson,_

_People say you can arrange rather personal meetings with your prisoners. They also say that the price is quite nominal. I find myself in need of such a favour and will contact you soon enough for more details._

His face was puzzled and even a bit angry at first; he looked slandered; but then he yawned, crumpled the note and threw it away. Harry was watching him carefully, standing rather close to him under his invisibility cloak. No, this guard undoubtedly had nothing to do with all of it. Nothing had made Harry think otherwise. But he knew he couldn't waste any time, because if one of them mentioned it in conversations with the others, the one Harry was looking for would be ready to get the same message and would try his best to look calm.

The second one got the similar message, addressed personally to him, when he was walking with his little daughter in the park. He just frowned a little and it seemed he read the note several times as if trying to solve some puzzle. He didn't seem very bright and Harry was sure if he knew something, it would've already appeared on his face. The man lighted the pipe, as if it was going to help him to think. He reread the note again, but then his chubby daughter distracted him, asking to go to the lake with her, so the note was forgotten.

The third one was leaving the souvenir shop in wizarding London when the owl found him. Harry was carefully watching the man, whose name was Silvanus Whitford, when he unfolded the note. It took seconds for his relaxed face to distort in panic and become as pale as ash. The man started to look around and then disapparated. Harry was an auror, so he had certain skills to chase disapparating criminals, and he followed with his heart beating fast, since he just knew that he was close to making a real progress in his investigation. Surprisingly, the panicked guard apparated right to the auror Department where he worked. Harry kept hiding under his cloak and followed him inside the building. The man stormed into one of the offices and stopped in front of some large, dark-haired and, at the moment, busy-looking auror, who was sitting at the desk and writing something. He stopped writing and looked up at the seething man.

"Dawson, what the fuck is wrong with you? !" the guard yelled and swept everything off the desk. The pile of papers and the inkpot fell on the floor and scattered about it.

"What's the meaning of this?" the auror hissed. His voice sounded slightly hoarse.

"You said you wouldn't blab out anything about Malfoy! Whom did you tell about your little adventure?"

"Are you fucking daft? Lower your voice at once. And who do you take me for?"

"Then explain this," the guard growled and gave him Harry's note.

"Don't bother," Harry said, taking his cloak off and becoming visible to both astounded men. "I can explain. You're both under arrest on suspicion of rape."

"You have no right!" the auror hissed, already raising his hand that was holding the wand firmly. Harry was really fast, disarming them, spelling shackles on both of them and silencing them. He didn't want to hear the bastards. As he guided his scandalised captives to the fireplaces, he flooed together with them to his own department, right into the office of his captain, Stephen Barrett, who'd been warned about Harry's plan beforehand. The captain definitely wasn't pleased that one of Harry's captives wore the auror robes.

~*O*~

The big man, the auror Nathaniel Dawson was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. Harry was there together with his captain and the other auror.

"What makes you think any violation took place at all? I say he wanted it just as badly as I did," the bastard said arrogantly. It took Harry all his willpower not to punch him in his tan face that was already showing the signs of aging.

"Do you expect anyone to believe it?" Harry hissed.

"To believe what, Mister Potter? That the sweet little blondie bent over for me and was just dying to take my prick up his arse? Well, I did what he'd asked for and took him. I know it's against the rules to have such kind of intercourse with prisoners, and I'm ready to answer for it. But rape? No. He was lonely and upset, so he wanted some company."

The interrogation was tiresome. Dawson denied everything. Harry seethed. Why the hell the idiotic law made it so complicated to use Veritaserum? But, no! Of course, some fighters for the human rights had been protesting since the time the truth serum had been invented, making fuss that the interrogators abused their power and asked too many personal questions, which humiliated people; and, of course, the serum wasn't very good for their health. Oh, poor rapists and murderers! At the same time, since after the end of the war up until these days, everyone who had been following Voldemort and those who were just suspected in being involved in something like that (often those were absolutely groundless suspicions, and a lot of people were arrested and temporarily detained with the help of 'good' and 'vigilant' neighbours or someone else), were drugged up to the eyeballs without a question and no warrant was required. And even when suspicions were justified, did that mean that some murderers were better than others? Harry never understood such things.

Feeling that all attempts were fruitless, Harry decided to visit the other bastard in the next room. The guard seemed to be a less composed person, and the arrest had made him panic more than self-assured Dawson. Harry took a deep breath and, making sure his face showed some triumph, entered the room. The shackled guard looked startled.

"Well, it is decided, Mister Whitford. You're going to be detained until your trial in two weeks. And, most likely, you're going to be sentenced to many years in Azkaban. Your friend told us everything we wanted to know," Harry said with a small smile. He did his best to speak confidently.

"No... I just... Why?" the man panicked even more.

"For raping the prisoner, obviously. Your friend in the next room has just confessed that two of you had raped Draco Malfoy in his holding cell that you had opened, since you had an access to all the keys, due to your position," Harry replied calmly. There was a small risk that the rape hadn't taken place in the holding cell, but Harry relied on his intuition.

"He's lying!" Silvanus Whitford exclaimed in terror.

"Well, I don't know, he was very convincing. You have something to add?" Harry shrugged unenthusiastically, looking like he had something else to do, instead of being here.

"Of course, I do! I'm not a rapist. It was he who was insane about that prisoner. He did that. Only he," the man said. Harry sat down in front of him. Perhaps, the hat had really had reasons for wanting to put him in Slytherin?

"I'm listening," he said. "Tell me the truth if you don't want to get as much years in Azkaban as your friend. The truth, Mister Whitford."

"Yes... You see, Dawson and I have known each other for a long time. We often played poker together. It's a muggle card game and..."

"I know what poker is. Go on."

"Almost six months ago I lost the big game. I haven't played since then. I owed him money. It wasn't really much, but... I couldn't find it to pay the debt. He wanted his money, and I have a wife and two children, so I've been doing my best to make ends meet. And then, one day, he visited me when I was at my post. He accidentally looked into Malfoy's cell through the window in the door. Malfoy was sleeping. Dawson asked me if it was really Malfoy. I confirmed it. The next day Dawson returned and watched him again. This time he was standing there longer. I didn't know why he was that interested. But then he offered me to release me from my debt for a 'little favour'. He wanted me to let him into the cell, so he could... have his way with Malfoy. Dawson has never been a model auror, but it was too much. I even thought he was joking. But he wasn't. At first I was angry at him for asking me for anything like that. But then he started to demand his money and it... convinced me. He picked one night when my partner was ill, so I was alone at my post for several hours. Dawson promised not to make any obvious damage. But he... He had a knife with him; he swore it was just to scare the boy. He swore he wasn't going to use it. I cast the spell to soundproof that part of the corridor, and let him enter... He gave me two Galleons just... just for fun," the man quietened down. He looked guilty with his eyes cast down, but that didn't make Harry feel any sympathy for him.

"Did you see what happened in that cell?" He asked quietly.

"No."

"But you can confirm that it was a rape?"

"Yes, definitely. I didn't see what happened there, but I was staying close to the cell on the watch, to make sure no one was coming there. I was inside of the soundproof area, so I heard everything. I heard Malfoy screaming and crying. He begged Dawson to stop. I still remember him crying," Whitford sighed. Harry closed his eyes at this. It hurt. A lot. To avoid hurting himself any further, he forced himself not to concentrate on the images in his head. He forced himself to think that the victim was someone else, someone faceless and unfamiliar, not Draco. He had to do it, to do his job well, without any personal emotions.

"Go on..."

"Dawson just left the cell, looking pleased. Later he said he'd made sure Malfoy hadn't seen his face and he'd probably threatened the boy, too. The next time I saw Malfoy in a few days, maybe in two or three days, he looked unwell. I... escorted him to the shower room; I knew he hadn't been escorted to use the shower since that night. I remember I even laughed internally... No... It wasn't like I was gloating or something, I rather was just glad that I'd been released from my debt. It was the last time I saw him; as far as I know, he was sold shortly after that. If I could turn back time, I'm not sure I'd do something like that again. I... I don't know."

"Anything else?"

"No," the man shook his head. Harry left the room silently.

During this day the other seven guards were also interrogated. One of them (the youngest one, the first one who had received Harry's provocative message) confirmed that he'd seen Dawson near Draco's holding cell two times. The auror had watched Draco sleeping. When the guard had asked him what he wanted, the older man had only answered that it was merely a precautionary measure. He'd said he wanted to make sure Malfoy wouldn't escape or something. The guard thought it was odd, but he'd found nothing to worry about, especially given that the second time was the last time he'd seen Dawson there.

Harry's plan had worked and the scum that had forced himself on Draco was going to pay. Dawson wasn't so cheerful anymore, as he'd found out that Whitford had told everything and later even asked to give him Veritaserum, so everyone would know that his every word against Dawson was true.

It was Harry who escorted Dawson to the holding cell in the department where he, Harry, worked. It was going to be the bastard's home before the trial and before Azkaban. Roughly he pushed the bigger man inside the cell and locked the barred door, giving him a look full of loathing.

"I'm impressed with your work, Mister Potter," Dawson smirked darkly, stopping Harry from leaving. The younger wizard looked at him again.

"That's because you're just another sadistic pig and an idiot that believed that he could do anything with impunity. Enjoy your stay. Even this cell is too decent for someone like you, but that's all right; Azkaban isn't this cosy," Harry hissed. Dawson quirked up the corners of his mouth in wry smile.

"Now this is quite unexpected," he chuckled. "So much passion. Looks like you're really upset; but, I believe, that's just because you still don't realise how much power you have," he lowered his voice almost to the whisper. "How unfortunate; having him as a slave and having no guts to do what I did. You do want that, don't you? You should try some time. I could tell you how it felt. I could tell you how it felt, having control over him, having him squirming under me. I assure you, Mister Potter, I've made it unforgettable for him..." His speech was interrupted by a powerful blow in his face. Harry's fist had made its way between the steel bars and collided with the bastard's jaw. The strike was as fast and as accurate as viper's. Dawson didn't make a sound, but reeled back and grabbed his face, screwing up his eyes. Harry was almost sure that the swine was going to lose a couple of posterior teeth, but he couldn't care less right now; just like he couldn't care that he would have to explain this to his captain. Seething with anger, he quickly left while he still could refrain from breaking every single bone the rapist possessed.

~*O*~

Draco was finally recovering from his illness, and the painful weakness was slowly leaving his body. He wasn't talking to anyone, but he was eating, drinking, taking his potions and getting up without any help. He didn't want Potter's help. He'd just had no choice but to accept it, but now that he could do without it, he didn't want Potter anywhere near him.

He knew that the house was watched. He saw people outside, but even when he didn't see them, somehow he knew they were there. They were dressed in a muggle clothes, but Draco was a wizard, so he was capable of tell muggles from wizards. Well, at least, some of them. Potters also had a guest that had been living with them for about a week now. He was occupying one of the guest bedrooms and he was undoubtedly an auror. Draco could tell that he wasn't a friend of the family; he was more like just Potter's colleague. Draco never even saw them talking in a friendly manner. But when Potter or his wife went for a walk with children or somewhere else, the man silently accompanied them. Something was happening and Potter's family needed protection. At first Draco felt curious, but then decided that he didn't care. Sometimes he heard the way Potter was arguing with his wife about something, but Draco couldn't understand what it was all about. Very likely, it had something to do with their current situation. Potter's wife had a talent to produce such a terribly annoying shrill when they were arguing that it was unbearable to hear it even from the distance.

Soon the curse, his slave driver, demanded him to start working. He started without even warning his owners first. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the kitchen itself didn't look really tidy after Ginny's cooking. Unfortunately, Potter's bitch turned up to have a glass of water. She was in a foul mood; it was evident from the start.

"Finally," she exclaimed. "Have you already returned to your duties and quitted feigning that dubious illness? Your pathetic dying swan show doesn't work for me, you know. I just think you're lazy and you just wanted others to pity you, so you wouldn't have to work. You should be glad that you live in this house. Most slaves live in much worse conditions. Harry's too kind, so he tolerates your behaviour, but I'm warning you, if you do not work and keep making troubles, I'll convince Harry to sell you to someone else. I won't let you ruin my family. You already cause us too much trouble," she frowned. Draco didn't bother to answer; he just glared at her, making sure she saw that he wasn't impressed. It was obvious that she was trying to wreak her vexation on him, and he didn't want to provoke the curse, telling her what he really thought of her, which wasn't something flattering, to put it lightly. As far as he knew, he'd been in no condition lately to 'cause trouble', so she could go fuck herself. Although, in his thoughts he wished her to go somewhere and die, it wasn't something really new for him to hear something like this from her. Many times he'd already heard her saying how he should be grateful and happy that Potter had picked up such a useless person, like a stray animal.

"I'm having a small party today. You're going to serve us some tea and a light snack," Ginny ordered. "It's already prepared," she added. And Draco knew that it was going to be a really foul day.

"Draco, how are you?" Potter asked, entering the kitchen. He was a bit surprised to see the blond washing the dishes. He'd hoped that the curse would give Draco a few more days. The blond only sighed in annoyance, wondering if he should answer, though he didn't know what, at any rate.

"Why are you even asking?" Ginny looked at the blond with disdain. "Don't you see, Harry, he doesn't like it here and he doesn't like you. Stop treating him like a dear guest, because you know he's not."

"Last I checked, there was nothing wrong with being civil," Harry grumbled.

"Well, it's obvious that he doesn't give a damn about your civility. Am I right, Malfoy? I asked you a question." She was losing her patience at his unwillingness to respond. The curse wasn't pleased either. Oh, for Merlin's sake, why couldn't they just leave him alone, let him wash their fucking dishes, and they'd just discuss his lack of appreciation somewhere else? "Malfoy, would you rather prefer being here or in Azkaban?" she asked.

"Azkaban," Draco replied coldly and quickly, without thinking. He kept doing his work without even looking at neither of them. Gods, he just wanted to be left alone...

"See, Harry?" Ginny said triumphantly. Harry didn't know what she was trying to prove, and, frankly, after another argument they'd had last evening, he just couldn't make himself care. He was tired. She blamed him, saying that he'd put his family in danger 'because of Malfoy'. He did his best to convince her that the presence of aurors was just a precaution, that their house was safely warded and had always been. He tried to convince her that it was going to be over soon, that everything would become normal again after the trials. He'd only asked her not to tell Draco about it. But he knew she could do it just to spite him. Or Draco. Apparently, she hadn't done it yet, thankfully.

His captain was convinced that Harry and his family needed protection and Harry agreed, because, even though he regretted nothing, he worried about his household. Aurors from some other departments weren't happy about the situation, especially those who were friends and colleagues of those who were going to have a trial for killing Narcissa and Lucius, and for the other crimes. The entire situation also induced some people from the Ministry to check the work of many other aurors, too, since common people were very displeased after reading articles about the corrupted aurors. The Ministry, of course, did it only to turn everything in its favour, assuring people that they took everything in their hands, because 'the government only cared about safety and wellbeing of the people'. No one cared about Malfoys or other victims, but nobody wanted lawlessness either (even though the current laws allowed slavery). All of it was quite stressful and Harry had already received a couple of letters full of threats. The sender of one of them had been found, though. Harry was extremely careful these days, but he cared more about his family than himself. He didn't want them to become a target, but, then again, he never regretted what he'd done.

~*O*~

When Potter was away together with his children, his wife's guests turned up, so Draco had to serve them tea and other things, as he'd been ordered to. All four guests were women, mostly young, but not younger than Potter's wife. They all were the women with quite a developed musculature, but weren't too muscle-bound, except for one of them. As he knew, all of them were from the Holyhead Harpies and Potter's wife had played with them before having the second spawn. Despite their sport career, two of them preferred firewhisky to tea.

"...At least, this one looks nice. He's much more pleasurable to look at than house elves. I always liked blonds," one of them chirped and looked at him flirtatiously. _'Ignorant sluts,'_ Draco thought tiredly. Meanwhile, she continued: "I wouldn't use him for any house work. He'd look much better in a bedroom. Say, Gin."

"Not my type. I'd use him for a harder work, but he's more Harry's slave than mine," Potter's wife replied unenthusiastically.

"If he was a girl, I'd be more careful if I were you," the other one teased. Draco rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen, as all of them had their fucking tea, booze and snack. They were talking about some nonsense and giggling so loudly, that he could perfectly hear them in the kitchen. _'Just a bunch of ugly twats. Worthless cows with one brain cell for all of them,'_ he seethed. He would have rather scrubbed floors on his knees than served the guests. But he had actually expected something like that.

It had started again as Potter's wife called him to bring more food. As the twats saw him again, he once again became a topic of their empty talks.

"They say an owner can order a slave to stop breathing."

"And what would happen?"

"Well, I don't think anyone can just stop breathing, but the curse would punish a slave for disobedience. I think doing it often enough would make a slave obey, sooner or later."

"I doubt that."

"Gin, can you order him to do something embarrassing? Crawling on his hands and knees, for example."

"Could we talk about something more interesting?" Potter's wife finally said with irritation. However, once she took a sip of her tea, she frowned and turned to him. "Malfoy, I thought I told you that I don't drink strong tea. Are you a complete imbecile that you can't even remember a simple order?" Looking at her with disdain, he took the cup away to dilute her fucking tea in the kitchen. The bitch was really starting to get on his nerves. Normally, she hadn't paid much attention to him or just made some short orders, scowling at him, but since that shit with the aurors, looking after the house, had begun, she hated Draco's very presence, it seemed, as if it was him to blame. Making more noise than necessary in the kitchen, he warmed the water, but apparently Ginny didn't want to wait.

"Malfoy!" she shouted from the living room a few minutes later.

"Oh, for Bastet's sake!" Semiramis hissed, as the shouting had woken her up, even though she'd started to wake up at the noise Draco had produced in his irritation. She was resting on the windowsill in the kitchen, like she often did during the day. Frowning, she stretched, then turned away and tried to fall asleep again. Draco was livid. Annoyed, he spat in the bitch's tea. He knew it was a childish antic, but he couldn't help it. The curse punished him with sharp pain, almost slowly going through his spine like a burning arrow, making him want to yell. He nearly fell on the floor, biting his lower lip. But in spite of that, he smirked slightly, seeing the redhead's stupid smile, as she was chirping with her stupid, dim-witted friends, with pleasure sipping the tea (with his spit) that he'd brought her.

"Bird-brained cunt," he muttered.

The sadistic curse had already exhausted him with warnings and punishments during these several hours, but, very fortunately, it finally felt satisfied with the minimum of work he'd done for today, so he left to his room, leaving all the dirty dishes to Potter's wife, Potter himself or idiots whom they called friends; he didn't give a fuck. Finally, he could send it all to hell and plunge his aching body into the bathtub, into the hot water, scented by salt and foam.

Draco wondered how Potter managed to find enough time for everything, without forgetting seemingly unimportant details. He often looked so absent-minded and slightly negligent, but he never forgot about Draco's needs, always at the right time replacing the blonde's toiletries when he was about to run out of something. The same went to candles, matches and other things, not to mention cleaning Draco's clothes, towels and bedcovers to spare him the necessity of washing all of it by hand, especially given that the curse wouldn't count it as a part of his daily work. Such thoughtfulness surprised Draco, since Potter obviously had enough, much more important, things to attend to.

Since Draco had settled down in this house, he had all these expensive toiletries in his bathroom, such as hair pomade (which Draco always used to slick his hair a little, without making it look too oily), hand cream, soaps, after shave lotion, tooth powder (one of the best in the wizarding world, as he hadn't failed to notice), mouthwash and other things. The only thing Draco didn't use was the after shave lotion, because he didn't need to shave. He liked his face smooth and had long ago used the special potion (which had been a pain in the neck to brew without making mistakes) to prevent the facial hair from growing, even though it had been soft and thin, anyway. To make it start growing again, if someday he wanted it to, he would just have to take a counter-potion. So, thankfully, he didn't need muggle razors as well.

Potter even provided him with cologne. Draco liked the way it smelled, though it wasn't something he'd usually used. He didn't know what had made Potter choose exactly this one for him.

To be truthful, Harry had just asked the shopkeeper for 'something aristocratic' when he'd been shopping before taking Draco into his house after... after buying him. The woman had asked questions about the person to whom Harry had wanted to buy the cologne. He had stuttered, trying his best to describe Draco, which wasn't easy. Not for him... In the end, the slightly confused by his discrepant and hardly helpful description, woman had given him several bottles to choose from, and he'd chosen the one he'd found more pleasant. There was something fresh in it, something resembling the cool rain. He'd chosen it, just because he liked it, though he could never boast of having a good taste. Harry couldn't remember when he'd been more attentive to such details. He'd really wanted to please Draco, to make things just a bit more comfortable for him.

Draco was relieved that, at least, he didn't have to ask for anything like that. He appreciated it, even though he wasn't going to admit it openly. To be honest, grooming often made him capable of putting his mind at ease, just a little bit, just for a while; however, he sometimes had to force himself to do it.

Today the hot bath and grooming session worked pretty well, making him feel like Potter's wife, her stupid guests and even the curse, that had made him miserable all day long, were something insignificant, not worth thinking about. He wanted some rest, still a bit weak after illness.

As he'd put his pyjama on and sat down on his bed heavily, he took the picture of his smiling child and pressed his lips against the cold glass of the frame, imagining that it was warm, like his son's face. He closed his eyes and prayed the entire Celtic pantheon to look after his little boy. He was devastated, and yet he desperately hoped that his son was in good hands, probably in a new family; he hoped they loved him and the boy was happy. _'I think about you every day,'_ he wept quietly, fervently sending his thoughts... somewhere. _'Wherever you are, I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world. I wonder if you blame me for what happened, for failing to keep you with me... Gods, please, let him be happy. I'd suffer anything for him, any pain and grief just for him not to know any of it. Nothing would ever heal the hole in my heart, and I will always remember you, darling.'_ It was his prayer, similar to all of those he'd had every night for months; except for the period of his illness, but even then, deep inside his heart, he'd kept begging for his son's safety. Nothing eased the pain and he knew he would never be able to move on. Somewhere out there was a part of him, his child, and Draco couldn't find peace, as he didn't know the fate of the only person he cared for. Every time he consciously thought about his boy, which was quite often, his insides somersaulted and clenched painfully, and he felt the lump in his throat that was making it hard for him to breathe; making him want to die, just to stop feeling this pain that was filling the emptiness he felt _**all the time**_. The pain was chronic, the wounds just refused to start healing, his tears refused to dry up. Sometimes he couldn't fall asleep for hours, thinking that he could've avoided all of it if only he'd left that house in the forest and found a new place to hide. If only he'd moved all the time, they wouldn't have been caught like that. He knew it wasn't good to hide the child from the world for many more years and it was good that Scorpius didn't need to hide any longer... At least, something was good about it (he tried to convince himself that it was). He tried his best to consider it as a positive side of the situation, but he was Scorpius' parent, and his boy was too young to be separated from him. Scorpius was his! They'd had no right to do it to both of them! _'Gods, please, let him be surrounded by caring people...'_

~*O*~

Harry was a giving person. And he was giving a lot, if he felt like it. He utterly enjoyed the feeling when his gifts (material or nonmaterial, it didn't matter) were just accepted. No gratitude or anything in return required. Just acceptance. But Draco wasn't like that, simply because he hated Harry, didn't he? It made the dark-haired man sigh.

Jamie started crying, definitely wanting to spend some more time in his 'Dada's' arms, and being put into his cot wasn't appealing at all at the moment. Distracted from his thoughts, Harry smiled and picked up his toddler again. The boy quickly calmed down in his warm arms, holding Harry's shirt collar in his small hand. Gently rubbing James' back to soothe him, Harry returned to his thoughts.

The last few weeks had exhausted him, but it was worth it. At first there'd been a trial of the several aurors, involved in the murder of Malfoys and the other former Death Eaters. They had got from seven to ten years in Azkaban, depending on their participation. The one who'd planned those murders had been sentenced to sixteen years, which in Azkaban was no better than a death sentence. Dawson's and Whitford's trials had been next in queue, in two weeks. Harry had convinced the same pitiless prosecutor to take part in it, which hadn't been easy. Nathaniel Dawson had been sentenced to seven years in Azkaban and would never be able to be an auror again.

It was quite an unpleasant fact for Harry to find out that the rape had taken place only three days prior to that goddamned auction. It meant that Draco had probably been hiding that he'd been injured back then when he'd been brought to Grimmauld Place, and Harry hadn't noticed anything.

He also wasn't pleased that it hadn't been quite Draco's situation that had earned Dawson that punishment, but the charges, pressed by the young woman that had suddenly decided to testify against him openly, once she'd found out about his trial. Three years ago she'd worked in the same department as an assistant, helping in finding the stolen things (like works of art, for example) on the black market. At first Dawson had harassed her, making it less and less possible to ignore. She'd started to avoid him, as best as she could, and it seemed to have worked; she'd believed so. But she'd been wrong, and once he'd caught the opportunity when she'd stayed late at work, he'd cornered her in the lavatory, disarmed her and molested her, threatening to kill her mother and sister if she'd told anyone about it; he'd even told her their address and some personal facts of their lives, to make sure she'd taken the threat seriously. Terror stunned most people, making it impossible for them to try to escape, but in her case it had been different. Panic had made that fragile-looking, blonde woman (the bastard really fancied blondes, it seemed, regardless of their gender) push the much stronger rapist away when he had already pulled her dress up and her panties down. Before he'd had a chance to use his wand to stop her, she'd jumped out of the open window of the lavatory, situated on the second floor. She'd only skinned her palms and her ankle had been displaced, but she'd escaped. There had been people outside that, unfortunately, hadn't noticed her desperate jump, but she'd limped in their direction as fast as she could, so the rapist wouldn't have risked attacking her. She had been saved by the fact that the window had been open; she wouldn't have had enough time otherwise. She'd quitted her job the very next day, but had never said anyone about that incident.

Harry had wanted to yell at her, to blame her, because she hadn't told anyone about it back then and had literally allowed the scum to rape the other person.

Dawson had been interrogated again with Veritaserum. That had made it clear that Draco and that woman were his only victims, even though he could hardly be called a sexually abstinent person. He'd just been less active for the last few years, probably because he wasn't quite young anymore.

During the trial the woman's story had seemed to attract more attention than the actual rape, and Harry hadn't liked it. But, on the other hand, it had possibly been so, because she'd testified openly, could have been asked questions and so on. Harry wondered how many years of imprisonment the bastard would have got if Draco was the only victim. A half of those seven years? Or a bit more? It wasn't fair, considering that the woman had been lucky enough to avoid Draco's fate. Harry had forced himself to calm down. It wasn't fair to blame her for being so intimidated and ashamed that even her closest friends and relatives had had no idea that she'd gone through such an ordeal. Dawson was obviously good in making threats that made people shut their mouths.

His acquaintance, Silvanus Whitford had lost his job, of course, and had been sentenced to four months in Azkaban, plus one year of probation.

Well, all of it was better than nothing, at any rate.

Harry decided that Draco would've definitely been mad because of his hero complex and because Draco hardly wanted anyone to know the details of what had happened to him. He would've probably never forgiven Harry for making his indescribable humiliation public. He still had no idea what Harry had done. He never read papers (and Harry made sure not to leave papers where Draco could find them accidentally), and, after weighing the pros and cons, Harry had decided not to tell him anything at all; he simply couldn't. In the papers all those trials had made a lot of noise, but Harry had insisted that Draco's name would never be mentioned in any of those articles. He'd used all the possible connections to keep the rape victim's name, Draco's name, secret, even if many people knew the story itself in broad terms. The woman's name, however, had leaked into the press, and she'd quickly packed and escaped to the muggle world, at least, for some time. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for Harry (well, for Harry and Draco), her story had attracted a lot of attention and distracted the especially zealous reporters from trying their best to find out the name of the violated prisoner.

After some more internal fight, Harry had only become more convinced of the rightness of his decision to keep that great deal of information away from Draco. He saw no point. Undoubtedly, the blond had every right to know the truth, but it would only make him mad and upset, it would only cause another breakdown and Draco could fall ill again. Harry was afraid for him. Ginny kept quiet about it, too, because Harry had sincerely and very insistently asked her to. They'd argued a lot about it and she actually wanted Malfoy to know what kind of mess they had been dragged into because of him. Harry didn't know if she believed that telling Draco would somehow make his presence more bearable for her, that it would give her something to manipulate him in some unfathomable way, give her some questionable advantage. He couldn't understand her logic; anything like that would hardly work with Draco or, more likely, it would bring completely opposite results. But, in any case, he hadn't helped to put the bastards in Azkaban searching for any kind of appreciation or, on the contrary, disapproval, or anything else at all. He'd done it, because it was the right thing to do and because it was some sort of revenge for hurting Draco, who deserved justice. He'd just done the right thing, full stop!

Naturally, the more Harry 'fought for justice', the more it estranged him from Ginny. He had nearly forgotten about her birthday on the eleventh of August. Merlin, he had nearly forgotten his own birthday, less than two weeks earlier! He could hardly remember when was the last time they'd used their bed for something except for sleeping. It was like having a room-mate. He felt guilty about it sometimes; they were married, after all, but it didn't seem possible for him to even think about having the former intimacy with her, especially given their constant arguments. Ginny seemed to be fine with it. She'd been actually fine with it since James' birth. Only sometimes they'd had sex, but recently even that had gradually stopped, and Harry had hardly noticed it at first, even though, in fact, it had stopped a few months ago.

However, nothing had changed in his relationship with the children. He spared no time to play with them, teach them or go for a walk with them. He loved his sons and he knew he would never be happy without them.

Speaking of children, James had already fallen asleep with his small head on Harry's shoulder, lulled by his father's warmth, and Harry had been so deeply plunged into his thoughts that he hadn't noticed. He kissed the toddler's forehead and carefully put him down into the cot.

~*O*~

Now he only had to find Draco's boy and he could finally relax...

Easier said than done. All his attempts to find even a tiny grain of any new information failed. He decided to start from the very beginning and find out who was the mysterious mother of Draco's baby. He also wanted to learn more about the boy himself. All he knew was his full name, date of birth and the name of one of his parents, of course. In all the official papers there was 'unknown' next to the word 'Mother'. In any case, Harry was almost sure that there had been some accident (probably something similar to Harry's own unplanned fatherhood), since Scorpius was only six months younger than his Albus. It was hard to imagine that Draco would've planned to become a father this early, not to mention that his son had been conceived during the very hard time for Malfoys, as they had fallen into disgrace with Voldemort and could've been killed at his mere whim, like all those people, murdered in their Manor. It had hardly been an appropriate time and place to romance someone and to plan a family. Once again Harry forced himself to suppress the awakening jealousy. What right did he have to be jealous?

Heliodorus Corundum had been a family healer of Malfoys, just like his mother had once been, and his grandfather before her, and some other ancestors earlier. Harry smiled at the information. The devotion to traditions seemed to be really strong in their bloodline, which wasn't something unusual for purebloods. Harry had already made appointments with a few people that could have been in contact with hiding Malfoys. It was only natural for him to start with the healer.

He entered the mediwizard's consulting room (quite lavish, but not too lavish, at the same time) when the healer's personal secretary had allowed him to. Harry was greeted by the greying, stately-looking man in his early fifties.

"Auror Potter," the man nodded. They shook hands.

"Good morning, healer Corundum," Harry replied, giving the man a small smile.

"Please, sit down. How may I be of service?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered and sat down in the remarkably comfortable armchair at the healer's desk, across from the older man. "I need your help and there's a chance you possess some information that might be useful for me," he said when he was sure he had Corundum's attention. The man in front of him was sitting in relaxed position, with his hands locked on the desk. Harry felt like he was being scrutinised and it made him fidget very slightly.

"What kind of information?" the mediwizard asked, as the scrutiny stopped.

"I'm looking for Scorpius Malfoy. He's missing and no one knows where he is. There's a very small possibility that the boy's mother could be involved somehow, but her name has never been mentioned in any documents. As far as I know, Scorpius was born when Malfoys were in hiding, so... I have reasons to suspect that you, as their family healer, assisted during the boy's birth," Harry said, making sure he sounded polite, not intimidating. He hoped it would make the man more informative. The healer lowered his eyes, slightly nervously, which hadn't escaped Harry's attention.

"Mister Potter, I'm afraid I cannot help you. I'm bound by patient confidentiality," Corundum replied seriously. It meant more time for Harry to waste, trying to get a warrant that allowed him to interrogate the healer, despite the patient confidentiality. Harry sighed. Oh, how he hated all this constant procrastination!

"I understand, but it might be very important for my investigation," he tried again. The mediwizard shook his head negatively, but Harry continued, nevertheless. "It might be important for the boy's life. Getting a warrant will take time. I can give you the Wizard's Oath that I'll keep all the information to myself. It won't ruin your reputation. You've always acted in best interests of Malfoys, and now their little boy probably needs help. His father is worried sick. I need, at least, the name of Scorpius' mother."

"So Draco Malfoy refuses to tell you his story..." the man sighed after almost a minute of silence. He got up and moved to the window with pensive look on his face.

"We... We're not on good terms," Harry admitted honestly. "He doesn't trust me enough to share anything with me. And he's too hurt by what happened. But I really want to help him and his son. I don't have any ulterior motives and I'm not trying to make any profit from this situation," he promised. Corundum hesitated, obviously thinking carefully of what he should or shouldn't do. It took a couple of long minutes, but Harry waited patiently.

"You can't find Scorpius' mother, because he's never had one, in the first place," the healer sighed in surrender.

"What do you mean?" Harry blinked.

"Young Mister Malfoy carried his child for about eight months and two weeks, and gave birth on the sixth of November, nineteen ninety-eight. The boy was born a bit earlier than I'd predicted, but he was a healthy child, there was nothing to worry about."

"Wait... You can't be serious," Harry stuttered.

"I'm more than serious, Mister Potter. The boy's father, Draco Malfoy, gave him birth."

"But how..? Please, explain it to me."

"They refused to give me any details," the mediwizard shrugged. "I was summoned to their house in France where they were hiding. Missis Malfoy told me that her son hadn't been feeling well for more than a month. She showed me to his room. Young Mister Malfoy, indeed, looked ill and distressed. I examined him and found out that he was almost four months pregnant. It was quite a surprise, as you can imagine. Such things are extremely rare. But it was even more unexpected for young Mister Malfoy. He refused to believe me and stormed out very livid and frightened, so I discussed the situation with his parents. They, too, were shocked. When I visited them three weeks later, I examined my patient again. He'd already started to show. He was unresponsive and hardly answered any questions. I was convinced that Malfoys already knew the reason for Draco's condition. I suspect it had something to do with their family magic. I can't be certain, but it seemed they considered the situation embarrassing, since they refused to explain it even to me. Mister Malfoy Senior wanted me to work with what I had; so I did. I was examining the young man and the child during pregnancy and then, on the sixth of November I was summoned, and he was already far into labour; it was obvious at the first sight. The labour was hard for him both physically and emotionally, but Missis Malfoy was very helpful. She was with him all the time. When it was over, young Mister Malfoy refused to even look at his little boy and requested to be left alone. It was Missis Malfoy who was taking care of the child for the next couple of weeks. It looked like Draco didn't want to acknowledge the very existence of his son. But when I visited them later just for the routine examination, the boy was always in his father's arms and young Malfoy was rather affectionate towards his baby son. I don't know what had caused that dramatic change of heart and it wasn't my place to ask. But I remember how close they were to each other. If Scorpius is missing, I assume young Malfoy is devastated."

"He is..." Harry whispered almost inaudible, not quite sure what to say. All of it was quite a shock and Harry wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was unbelievable...

"But I don't think all this information could be useful to you. If you want to know about the second father, I have nothing to tell you. Frankly... It's only my suspicions, but back then I took the liberty of assuming that they simply didn't know who the second father was. I think even Draco doesn't know."

In the end, Heliodorus Corundum gave Harry the thin folder of Scorpius' medical history. Harry found nothing useful, but he was curious. There were just medical notes, such as Scorpius' length, weight and other measurements, right after his birth and later; his temperature, heart rate and so on. There were things that Harry didn't quite understand (too medical to be understood by mere mortals). But then he saw the photograph, attached to the one of the pieces of parchment with more mediwizard's notes. The photograph showed baby Scorpius, very small, not older than one or two weeks since his birth. The sleeping baby was naked, lying on his front with his legs crossed and folded under his tummy. His arms, too, were under him, folded under his pink cheek. The baby's position looked as if he was still inside the womb. Narcissa was hardly visible on the photograph, but, looking closely, it was possible to see a part of her tenderly smiling face in the background. Her gentle hand was caressing her sleeping grandson, softly running from the small head, covered with thin white-blond hair to the boy's bottom. Harry couldn't help but smile at the adorable picture. Quickly looking through the next pages, he was slightly confused, as his eyes stopped on one of the sentences: 'After one month of breastfeeding the examination shows the better digestion and general health improvement'. Harry was slightly confused. _'Breastfeeding?'_ No, he had already stuck his nose where it didn't belong, so he decided to leave it alone.

"I only visited them several times to make sure young Mister Malfoy and his son were fine. It was their hiding place, so we couldn't risk, as you understand. Luckily, they were quite healthy," the healer told him. Harry thanked him and decided that he had found out everything he could find out from the mediwizard.

Harry left the building, still finding it hard to believe everything he'd just learned. He was aghast. Draco had been pregnant! Draco had given birth to his own son after having him growing inside his body. That little boy on the photograph on the blonde's bedside table had been developing inside Draco before coming to this world. Oh, even better! Judging by the date of Scorpius' birth, Draco had already been pregnant when they'd had that encounter in the Room of Requirement and then Harry had saved him from the burning room. Draco had been two and a half months pregnant or so. God... he had been pregnant when he'd nearly died in the fire, but the blond himself had had no idea about it. Draco had even already been pregnant when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been captured and held prisoners in Malfoy Manor. Gods... He couldn't help but think that he would've been much less violent, disarming Draco, if he had only known about his condition. Or later he would've stopped Ron from punching the blond. When Ginny had been pregnant for the second time, Harry, in spite of the progressing coldness in their relationship, had been fussing over her, taking care of her, doing his best to keep her from everything that could upset her (even if the unplanned pregnancy itself had been unsettling for her). Causing pain to someone in such a delicate condition was unthinkable in Harry's point of view. Yes, he would have stopped Ron. He knew these were foolish and useless thoughts, but still...

He didn't know what had changed, he'd been protective of Draco, anyway, but he knew he would never be able to look at him in the same way.

Unfortunately, his search for the little boy was still unsuccessful.

~*O*~

Harry quietly entered the blonde's room in the middle of the night, failing to fall asleep. He was just standing under his invisibility cloak near the currently uncurtained bed, and looked at sleeping Draco, curled up into a tight ball under the quilt. He really looked younger when he was sleeping...

In Hogwarts Harry had sometimes imagined that Draco usually slept on his back, like royalty; well, the way people often stereotyped the sleeping royalty. Now he wondered if Draco's distress made him curl up or he always preferred sleeping like this. By the light of almost burned down candles Harry was looking at the pale face, relaxed, peaceful and vulnerable. God, he was really obsessed, wasn't he? Making himself look like a pervert in Draco's eyes was inadmissible. Thankfully, the blond was sleeping too deep right now and, thankfully, Harry had his invisibility cloak. The cloak would never fool Meow, though. The Siamese cat looked at him lazily and sleepily, never leaving the warm spot near Draco's covered knees.

Draco's beauty was always both cruel and pure. It was inapproachable. But when he slept it was just pure. His cheekbones seemed less prominent, his chin less pointed, even his small nose seemed less turned-up. But the features were still chiselled, just softer. He was beautiful... Suddenly the sleeping expression became troubled and very unhappy. Harry closed his eyes as he listened to Draco quietly whimpering his son's name in his sleep. Harry cast a glance at Scorpius' framed photograph. _'Where are you, little boy?..'_

He left the room just as quietly as he'd entered it. Watching Draco was perfectly normal when he had been ill, but now it was very wrong and Harry promised himself not to do it again. Dawson had watched sleeping Draco. Harry didn't want to have anything in common with that perverse bastard.

~*O*~

He wondered if there was any hope to find Scorpius. With all his heart he hoped that the boy was alive, even if there really was a strong probability that he wasn't and Harry's colleague had been right, saying that destroying information about the boy, some people had covered the tracks of their culpable negligence.

Once again he thought how much he loved his sons. Even the thought of losing them was a torture. He didn't know if it made any difference losing someone who had been born of your seed or losing someone who had been growing inside you. He just knew that Draco would never be happy again without his boy.

* * *

_**REVIEW, PLEASE!**_


	7. Glass and Blood

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

blackcurrent (as I've already hinted, even Draco doesn't know the answer. I'll explain it later, but, believe me, it's not really important for the story. Thanks for reviewing :) !), Lientjuhh (Thanks a lot! :) ), makoslits (I can honestly say that he's not pregnant :). He was examined, remember? He was sick because of the stress, and the curse isn't quite a good thing for his health. Thanks for your review!), GeorgieGirl999 (Thank you! Please, enjoy the new chapter :) ), Koiame (Thank you so much!), LeStrange (Thank you! I'm glad you like it so much), PoisonedFlowers (Thanks! I love heroic Harry :) ), Aquarinus (Thanks so much!), HARPY (Thanks!), Love bug (Enjoy please :)!), Maureen (Thank you! That's very nice of you!), PrinceOfPariahs(Thanks!),

Simply Scarfy (I just can't do it this soon, sorry, but I hope you're not going to be disappointed anyway. Thanks a lot for reviewing and I hope you're going to keep enjoying the story :) !), jillie (Thank you!), ShadowEntity (Sorry for the long paragraphs! I'm trying to break the habit to economise the space :D. The only advice I can give is to increase the font size; it'll probably help a little. Tanks so much! I'm glad you like this story and I hope you're having a good day yourself ;) ), Battery (Of course, I remember you! You wrote you're allergic to veelas :). I promised you that I don't write creature fics and I still don't, so don't worry about it. And you're not annoying at all. It's all right if you're trying to find out what you're getting yourself into not to waste any time. Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoy reading it!), TPI (Thank you!), _**I'm so grateful for your feedback, my dears! **_

_**And now to the story:**_

* * *

_**7. Glass and Blood**_

~*O*~

It was almost the middle of September, almost two weeks after Dawson's and Whitford's trials that had let Harry breathe more easily after all the efforts he'd made to make it happen; after the previous trials of several murderers of Draco's parents, after the anonymous threats, after helping in collecting the evidence and making a lot of paperwork, which he hated; after all the goddamned reporters, following on his heels. It was finally over.

It was about four and a half months since Draco had become a slave. Everything seemed tranquil for now and nothing new happened in their lives, which, Harry decided, was good (except for having no news about Scorpius). He really needed some rest.

~*O*~

He was really afraid to let Draco leave the house like this. It was actually the first time he was doing it. At first he'd been afraid that someone would hurt Draco or insult him. And he always remembered the mediwizard's words about the fragility of the immune system of those who had been enslaved. Harry was afraid that Draco would catch a cold outside. But he knew that it wasn't normal to lock Draco up like this, even if Draco himself wasn't quite enthusiastic about leaving the house. He needed air. Gods, he hadn't been outside for months! Summer had passed, and Draco hadn't been outside even for a minute. It wasn't normal.

So he sent him shopping. A false pretence, of course, but if he just told Draco to go have some fresh air in the park or something, it would enrage the blond, because anything like that automatically considered as unneeded, pathetic generosity that Harry could just very well shove up his own arse. To avoid arguments and even more hostility, Harry could only give Draco his work, and not offer him ways to spend his free time, which he didn't have much as it was. Well, he could surely order Draco absolutely anything, but, as before, he refused to abuse his power. Draco himself had never asked to let him out; of course, he hated asking for anything at all and it seemed he would do just about anything to avoid it, but he never looked like he was dying to go outside. And yet, Harry decided to take the risk.

He apparated them both to wizarding London and gave the blond the dark-blue hook umbrella, because it was raining slightly. It would also make Draco less visible to the other people in the streets; it wasn't hard to see that Draco didn't want any attention.

"Okay... I have some work to do and then I'll pick you up right here in three hours. It's more than enough for you to find everything from the shopping list, so take your time. In case you get cold, warm yourself up in some pub or café; order anything you like," Harry said. Draco gave him a slightly annoyed look. "Well... See you in three hours," Harry said and disapparated.

What Draco didn't know was that Harry came back in a couple of minutes, took Polyjuice and followed him under the guise of the differently looking person. Harry wasn't particularly happy with himself, but he wanted to make sure Draco was fine. The blonde's safety was more important than Harry's honesty. Draco looked lost and disoriented. Harry wondered how many years ago the fair-haired young man had had a chance to just walk down these streets freely.

The working day, the working hours, just a little past afternoon, and rain had taken care that there weren't many people outside. It made Draco relax, even though he felt like he was on the alert. Gods, he hadn't been here for years. Unhurriedly, he headed to the part of the city he knew very well (if nothing had changed, of course).

He just couldn't walk past the tea shop without stopping in front of it for several moments, just to inhale the pleasant smell. The shop hadn't changed at all. There, on the endless shelves, were hundreds of the jars of tea. These were the testers, so the customers could inhale the wonderful scent of hundreds of types. Black, green, yellow, oolong, white... Imported from all over the world. A great many types of fruit tea and herbal tea, including some of those that people drank for healing purposes only (their taste didn't make most people want to drink them for pleasure). So many types, so many names, some were extremely exotic and rare. There were also types that could only be found in the wizarding world. It had been one of his favourite shops. He'd visited it with his parents many times when he was little. He remembered himself wanting to taste every single type of tea the shop offered. He had liked most of those he'd had a chance to taste, but once he'd nearly ended up vomiting after choosing some black tea with vanilla and something else. That one was sickening. He almost smiled at the memory. Now he didn't feel the same thrill; it was just lost. And yet, he inhaled once again, absolutely positive that his smell receptors had caught jasmine and camomile, and, probably, bergamot orange of Earl Grey, - one of his favourites.

Draco was walking past the other shops without stopping. Tobacco shop never offered anything interesting for him. He didn't care if someone enjoyed ruining their lungs, skin and teeth, they weren't his, after all, but he hated the smell that literally soaked into clothes and hair, and it wasn't easy to get rid of it completely, even with strong spells. He remembered being angry at the couple of his housemates at school, because their clothes had smelled like that and he hadn't wanted it anywhere near him.

Not that he had money of his own to be picky about shopping (he quickly remembered that he wasn't even shopping for himself). To his shame he had forgotten all the money he'd had in that old house deep in the forest. There hadn't been too much, but Narcissa had packed enough for her son and grandchild. When he'd been arrested he'd felt so scared and crestfallen that he could have easily forgotten his own head there. And that was how he'd ended up without a Knut. But there was no harm in dreaming, right? Especially walking past all these shops.

The apothecary, that offered incredibly rare potion ingredients, looked the same. The jewellery shop across the street, according to the bright red sign, promised the good discount for those who were deeply in love with someone. How they managed to measure the depth of someone's love and to confirm its veracity remained unexplained, unless it was just a joke, which was very likely; the shopkeeper would've made a career on the different field, otherwise, and probably made much more money on infatuated fools. And then there were two book shops that were too close to each other, which made their owners yell and argue almost constantly. There was the stationery shop that also had different enchanted objects, such as remembralls, magical quills and other things. If Draco had any money, he would've definitely bought something, even if it was something useless. The rather shabby pub looked out of place next to the clean shop windows, but it had always been here. The owner was probably too lazy to take care of it.

Even if he had money, the alcohol shop had nothing for Draco, too, though a couple of wineglasses of a good wine would've been perfect. Immoderate drinking of something stronger was even worse than smoking, making people clumsy, stupid and too talkative for their own good. It made people lose control. On the other hand, he remembered that, according to popular opinion, drinking made people forget pain. Draco wasn't sure if it was really true, but he wouldn't mind to try right now if he could. He couldn't, though.

Draco thought about the breakdown he'd had some time ago, the one that had made him physically ill. That was the perfect example of losing control even without any alcohol, so it was probably not a good idea to induce anything like that again and embarrass himself by making someone else know about his personal calamities, too humiliating to be voiced. He remembered how he had been screaming and crying, remembered the words he'd yelled, remembered the pain that had overpowered even the pain that the curse had made him feel, trying to force him to stop insulting his master. He remembered all of it a bit dimly, because he couldn't think clearly back then. Potter had pitied him; he'd even had tears on his face, though Draco wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it. Oh, how Potter's wife would've had fun if she'd only seen Draco that broken! Or she would've probably been irritated and spelled his mouth shut, and done him a great favour by letting him keep his pain to himself.

He didn't know what to think. He hated being outside and he liked it. It gave him the illusion of being free. But just when he thought of it, the fucking curse, of course, warned him unpleasantly that freedom was something he would probably never have again. Almost fifteen years was so long... And what then? Would he even care when he'd be freed? Would it matter? It hardly mattered even now... Maybe in fifteen years (now it was about fourteen and a half), **_if he survived_**, he would try to find his boy... But why? His Scorpius would hardly want to do anything with him...

Harry kept following the lonely, lean figure, slowly walking down the street. He stopped when Draco had suddenly stopped and weakly leaned against the wall of the house with his shoulder. It made Harry feel concerned, but then he decided that the blond was just overwhelmed by the walk and by his own thoughts. Somehow Harry felt who was occupying the blonde's thoughts right now. He wanted to come closer and wrap his arms around these lean shoulders.

Draco took several deep breaths and continued walking, as he closed the umbrella, because the rain had already stopped (it had probably been some time since it had stopped, but he'd noticed it only several moments ago).

If in fifteen years he was able to have some money of his family, which was questionable, he would leave the country and settle down somewhere far away where no one knew him, somewhere where wouldn't be many people around, somewhere where he would try to forget all the people that currently surrounded him or had surrounded him before, besides his family, of course. He wondered it he would ever be able to be normal after being a slave. If only his boy wanted to go with him, he would try his best to make up for all the years of not being there for him. If not... Draco would go alone to lick his wounds till the rest of his life. His son would be eighteen years old, after all; it was the age when children didn't really need parents anymore. And why would Scorpius need him, having other people to take care of him for so many years? Someone else was reading him books before his sleep, someone else taught him things the way they were used to, not the way Draco would have taught him. Someone else would bring his baby to the King's Cross station and wave their hands at him when he'd take his seat in Hogwarts Express. Someone else would receive the first letter in which his boy would write about the results of the sorting, and then this person, or those people, would receive all the subsequent letters, give Scorpius advices, support him. Or maybe it would be some other school of magic. In any case, when Draco was free, his boy would be already out of school with his plans for the future, most likely. And then Draco would appear for him out of the blue (if he'd be able to find him at all)... He wouldn't be needed, he wouldn't be welcome... There was a good chance he would even be hated. Scorpius would probably let Draco say how sorry he was, but that would be all... Draco's broken heart responded with nagging pain and he swallowed his tears back. He had to accept it all, there was no other way. He increased his pace dramatically. He wanted to run; not to run away (it was impossible, anyway), just to run.

It quickly brought him to Diagon Alley, where traditionally were much more shops, concentrated in one area. Draco had once loved this place, especially when he'd been a little boy. It had seemed so lovely. Now everything seemed a bit too colourful, but dull and unwelcoming for him. No, the place was the same, but **_he_** wasn't. Now he couldn't imagine what he could have possibly liked here. There were too many happy faces and he loathed all of them. There were too much people here (well, not too much due to this moderately early hour) and it made him feel out of place. He felt so angry and bitter. People who had taken his boy away, people who had killed his parents, the rapist that had forced himself on him, all the other bastards, including those who had sold him like an animal, those who had wanted to buy him; they all were just walking the same streets freely.

He quickly found the back street he'd been looking for, in the very beginning of the Diagon Alley (thank Merlin he didn't need to go any further) where the apothecary was situated. He could find no explanation why Potter wanted him to buy things in **_th_****_is_** apothecary, not somewhere else. When the shopkeeper had given him all the potions from the list, Draco put them into the small leather satchel with the long shoulder strap, paid him quickly, took all the change to the last Knut and left without saying a word. Fucking Potter! He'd made him go outside like this when Draco could've easily brewed all of it himself! It would've brought him much more pleasure than being among all these fucking people. But, of course, no one ever thought about Draco's comfort. On the other hand, he probably wasn't trusted enough to brew everything properly, even if the curse wouldn't let him harm his masters. These weren't really complicated potions. Two of them were meant to ease the headache, the other one was thick almost like an ointment and was meant to be gently rubbed into the children's gums to lessen the pain during teething (Draco had a first-hand knowledge about this one, because he'd been brewing it for Scorpius); there was also a very light sleeping potion, usually used for teething children. There was nothing in the list that Draco couldn't brew easily, thanks to his late Godfather who had awoken his interest and talent in potion making. Severus Snape was another person that had been taken away from him. Draco missed him. In his room, next to the picture of his parents on the shelf, he had the clipping from the newspaper; it was an article, describing Severus' great services during the war (even though people, including Draco, didn't know everything. But somehow he was sure that Potter knew more than anyone else. After all, 'Severus' was the middle name of one of his sons), with the photograph of the man. The old newspaper had been found in one of the storerooms, next to his room, in the pile among the other papers, and Draco had made the clipping, since he didn't have a proper picture of his Godfather.

He hurried up to purchase the rest of the things from the list, so he could leave this place as soon as possible. The cat food for Meow was the last thing to buy. The enchanted satchel at his thigh, hanging from his opposite shoulder, easily accommodated all the purchases. Very quickly he returned to the place where Potter was going to pick him up. Draco still had more than one hour to wait for him and it irritated him to no end. He found the bench within the field of his vision and sat down. Fortunately, it was almost dry, so he made himself comfortable and relaxed. For several moments he pondered over Potter's suggestion to find some warm, cosy café, but quickly refused. He didn't want to use even one Knut of Potter's money, he didn't want to be among the people, which was unavoidable in such establishments, and it wasn't really cold outside, especially given that he was wearing his warm overcoat.

Harry sighed, looking at Draco sitting on the bench. During his short shopping trip a few people had stared at the blond suspiciously, and Harry had been ready to interfere if necessary, but, fortunately, those were only stares that Draco hadn't even seemed to notice. Draco looked even more dismal, so Harry knew that making him go outside hadn't been a good idea at all.

He showed himself thirty minutes earlier than promised and took the gloomy and almost unresponsive blond back to Grimmauld Place. And then he **_really_** went to work.

~*O*~

It was a shitty day, Draco had known it since the morning when he'd found out about that unwanted shopping. And now, as he entered his room after doing some household chores, he was a bit stunned, seeing Potter's spawn with the framed picture of Scorpius in his small hands; and it seemed like he was talking to it, playing with it, for sure. Potter's son had never entered his room before; at least, Draco had never seen him here. He tried his best to keep himself together and not to lash out.

"Put it back," he said coldly. The boy flinched slightly and turned to him.

"It's little you?" Albus asked.

"No. I said put it back," Draco demanded even more sternly. Albus' pout turned into a frown.

"My home and I touch all I want! I want baby picture!" he yelled and pressed the picture to his chest, turning away stubbornly.

"Put this picture back on the bedside table or, I swear to Merlin, you're going to pay dearly for touching it," Draco growled quietly, unimpressed by the brat's tantrum and by the unpleasant warning the curse was giving him. "It belongs to me. At least something your bloody parents and their stupid friends haven't taken from me."

"M'telling Mum you say bad fings! You evil!" Al yelled even louder. When Draco moved closer to take the picture away from the little, arrogant shit and throw him out of the room, Albus moved to the bedside table to place the picture back on it, but he was angry and didn't know how the picture ended up slipping out of his small hands. It hit the floor and shattered before he knew it. The boy was stunned and appalled; his anger disappeared right away. He turned around to look at speechless Draco, who was looking down at the shards of the glass on the floor and now frameless picture of his baby. Not only the glass that had protected the picture was broken, but the beautiful cut-glass frame itself was broken into little pieces.

"Sowwy..." Albus Severus whispered. He'd never been hit in his short life, but now he expected to be hit for **_this_**, so he slowly moved to the door. Draco didn't stop him and didn't stop looking at the floor. He kneeled slowly and took the picture carefully. He put it on the bedside table and started to pick up the shards of glass, feeling numb inside.

In the evening when Harry returned home, took a shower and had his supper, he, as usual, went to spend some time with children, letting Ginny go to her friend. Albus looked unusually quiet and not very eager to play.

"What is it, Al?" Harry asked softly. "Something is definitely wrong with you today."

"I did vewy bad fing, Daddy," the boy replied, looking down. Harry sat down on the sofa and put his son on his lap.

"Tell me what happened," he asked. Albus fidgeted a little.

"I seed baby picture in Dwaco's woom. Like postcawd, beautiful. Just wanted take a look. I taked picture..." he confessed and became quiet.

"What do you mean you took it? Haven't I told you that it's very bad to go through anyone's personal things? Where is it now? We have to give it back to Draco," Harry said calmly.

"No!" the boy shook his head. "M'not... Don't have picture. Just wanted look and Dwaco was angwy. He said put it back. I said it my home and... I touch what I want," Albus said and cast his eyes down again, looking slightly ashamed, which, Harry thought, was good. His boy was four years and several months old, and it was good that he'd started to understand when he was wrong.

"Oh, Al..." Harry sighed.

"I din' mean dwop it..."

"It shattered?"

"Uh-huh. I din' mean... You angwy?"

"Yes, I am. But I'm glad you're so honest with me," Harry said softly and kissed the boy's forehead.

"No sweets?" Albus asked carefully.

"No sweets," his father confirmed, trying his best not to smile. Al sighed unhappily.

~*O*~

Draco seemed absolutely indifferent, as Harry was silently watching him washing the dishes. Harry noticed a couple of small cuts on his fingers. They weren't deep and they weren't bleeding, and Harry knew that he'd got them, picking up the shards of glass and cut-glass off the floor. The dark-haired man didn't say anything about it yet, feeling that right now Draco didn't need much to break down and fall apart. It was practically in the air. Or was Harry imagining it and Draco was unusually calm? He couldn't decide. Automatically, the blond finished all his work about the kitchen and left without making a sound.

Harry retrieved all the pieces of the frame from the dustbin to repair it, but there were a lot of tiny shards that he couldn't find, and the frame would hardly look whole without them. Anyway, the thing had been too exquisite to make it look the same again with the simple 'Reparo'. But then he found something that startled him. It was the sharp piece of glass, bigger than the other pieces, and it was covered in dry blood. Several napkins, also found in the dustbin, were blood-drenched, too. A couple of scratches that he'd seen on Draco's fingers could've hardly resulted in losing this much blood. And... It didn't look like an accident.

He knocked on the door of the blonde's room.

"What?" was the quiet and annoyed sigh.

"May I come in?" Harry asked. There was no reply this time and he decided that it was one of those cases when silence gave consent. He entered tentatively. It seemed Draco was going to take a bath; he looked like he'd already been ready to go, with the bathrobe draped over his right forearm, but now he patiently waited for Harry to say whatever he wanted to say or order and to get the fuck out.

"Draco, there's something I want to ask. I found... Did you cut yourself on purpose?" the dark-haired man asked carefully. He saw the way Draco tensed and narrowed his eyes. Harry looked down at the blonde's left arm. It was covered with the sleeve of his white shirt, but the wrist and a part of the forearm looked thicker than usual under it, which Harry hadn't noticed in the kitchen, simply because he hadn't paid attention. Now that he knew about the cut (or cuts), it wasn't hard to guess that there was a bandage under the sleeve. He remembered placing some potions and the bandage roll into one of the drawers in Draco's bathroom, just in case. Draco didn't like the scrutiny and slightly moved the arm back instinctively.

"What's it to you?" he sneered.

"Why?.." Harry nearly whispered, this time looking up at his face.

"Distraction," the blond shrugged indifferently.

"Look... What you do is really... creepy. If there's anything I can do for you to make things better, I will. Just, please, stop hurting yourself. Please, Draco, don't," Harry said slowly and quietly.

"Stop talking to me like I'm some stupid, attention-seeking teenager," Draco hissed. "Don't worry, Master, I'm perfectly capable of doing my chores. Is that all?"

"You know I don't care about it. I care about **_you_**," Harry said truthfully, looking right into the blonde's eyes. Draco's scowl was gradually replaced with a threateningly cold expression that only intensified, despite the warning the curse was giving him. Either Potter was just ready to say anything to spare himself a problem of self-harming slave, or, most likely, the heroic Saviour decided to make a clumsy, pathetic attempt to give Draco a meaning of life.

Seeing this shockingly bone chilling look on Draco's face, these icy-cold eyes, Harry prepared himself to the incredible amount of shit coming his way.

"You know what I think, Master; I think you have too much free time," the blond almost whispered, but Harry caught a threatening undertone in his voice.

"You have to stop doing this to yourself," he said, making sure his voice sounded calm.

"Order me. You can order me not to cut myself again. Come on. You're a Master, so you certainly know what's best for me," the blond sneered.

"I won't do anything like this, even if I want to."

"Too noble to use all the power you possess over me? Well, too bad for you then."

"God, why can't we have a normal talk? Just once."

"What do you want to discuss? I don't think there's anything for us to talk about. Oh, I know; why don't we talk about you, instead?"

"If you want to," Harry replied, even though he knew that nothing good was going to come out of it. Draco hanged his bathrobe on the back of the armchair and sat down tiredly.

"Believe me, I don't. But, you see, Master, I thought I've made myself perfectly clear, making you see that I don't want your care, pity and attention; or any attention at all. Unlike you. You will never understand me, because you do want all the attention, don't you?"

"What makes you think I do?" God, he really knew it wasn't a good idea. Most likely, he was making another mistake. He just hoped to build **_some_** dialogue with Draco, even a lame one, which he'd been totally failing to do all these months. His only real attempt had ended with the severe nervous breakdown, so Harry was even more careful now. He'd just hoped that he would have more chances, giving the blond more time to get accustomed to the circumstances, more or less, even though he'd never expected much. It didn't seem he'd succeeded in anything at all.

"It's obvious. You were raised without a mother. That's why you married that..." Draco curled his lip in disdain. "The woman that looks a lot like your mother. I've seen the picture of Lily Evans once. Long, red, slightly wavy hair... Almost like your wife's. Wrong colour of eyes, though, but that's all right, isn't it? And Lily Evans was a far better looking person than your bitch of a wife. She was also a bit more womanlike, but, of course, she hadn't been raised together with... How many? Six brothers? Or seven? Sadly, it's the best you've managed to find to compensate for the lack of motherly attention. And it doesn't really work." Draco continued, despite the pain, blossoming inside him and becoming more and more acute. He knew he wasn't far from being severely and abruptly hurt by the curse and was secretly very afraid of it; it wasn't the pain one could just get used to. Harry was seething a bit and he was speechless at the insult. He let Draco continue, nevertheless. At least, he wasn't saying anything offending about Al and what had happened earlier. Harry wasn't sure he would be able to keep quiet and let anyone throw insults about his child. "Your best friends are too busy. The world is saved from being destroyed and plunged into the darkness by the mad villain. That's why you need something else, someone else, to fulfil your restless, heroic needs to save and gain respect. You just can't live without it. And, since I'm such a poor soul, you're trying to impose yourself on me with your attempts to save me and probably make me appreciate your efforts. Well, I'm sorry, it's not going to work, either. If you really wanted to help me, you would've let me die when I was ill. That would've been greatly appreciated; and not only by me, as we both know."

"Offence is the best defence, isn't it?" Harry sighed. "You don't know me and my motives at all."

"Likewise! See? You do things that **_you_** assume I need when, in fact, I don't. Right now I need a bath if you don't mind," Draco said with a note of finality. Gods, the curse was eating him alive now. It took him a lot not to show that he was in pain. He got up, shaking slightly, and took the bathrobe.

"All right then..." Harry sighed again. He'd failed, as usual. There seemed to be no way to mollify the blonde's hostility, but he'd known it already. Right now it was Draco's self-harm that bothered Harry the most. Draco walked past him to the door and opened it to leave.

"I'm really sorry that it hurts so much that you haven't found any other way to comfort yourself," he said quietly and sincerely, making the blond stop on his tracks. Harry could swear he saw the slim shoulders shaking a little, but Draco never looked back at him and left.

When Draco returned to his room after bath, he immediately noticed several rolls of bandages, the glass jar with wads of cotton wool and the potion to clean the wounds. All of it was on the desk.

Harry hadn't really accepted what Draco did to himself; however, there was nothing he could do without suppressing the blonde's will. He hoped that Draco would, at least, take care of the wounds, so he'd provided him with all the necessary things for it and, feeling defeated, left the room before Draco's return. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace in the living room, Harry was thinking numbly; he tried to be angry at Draco, but couldn't. How the hell could it come down to this? He remembered all the fuss when Buckbeak had injured the blond and other incidents when he had suffered some damage. Even if it was something insignificant, it had always been comparable to the world-scale tragedy, due to all the whining, so Harry had always thought that Draco shunned any physical harm and pain. It was still probably so, but it seemed that somehow it didn't apply to self-inflicted damage. Harry let out a heavy sigh and massaged his temples.

~*O*~

Draco knew he was going to end up feeling fine about self-mutilation, slowly and gradually. It had happened to him before, after all. Now he only needed a tool for something this personal, so he took one of the daggers from the collection that had been the heirloom of Blacks. It was one of those daggers that Draco had cleaned and made look nearly perfect. He chose the one that was encrusted with moonstones (the largest one decorated the top of the silver pommel). It seemed sharper than all the other daggers from the collection. For several moments he was enchanted by the shiny blade. He felt better, knowing that he was going to have such a thing at his disposal. Even though traditionally daggers were rather considered as stabbing weapon, not cutting, the edges were extremely sharp and Draco knew how to use it. With the similar dagger he'd cut out his Dark Mark. He put the blade into its silver sheath, enjoying the sound it created. He would need it later.

The curse hurt him when he was leaving the room, hiding the dagger behind his waistband to sneak it into his bathroom without being noticed. _'For fuck's sake.__.. I'm not stealing it from my __damned __masters__!__ I merely__ want to take it into my bathroom. I'm borrowing it! I use the other things here, too, don't I? My Master has allowed me to take anything I need. Bloody curse!'_ he thought fervently before it would've started to hurt too much. The curse didn't like it at all, he could feel it, but it stopped inflicting pain, because he had a point, whether it liked it or not. He wanted to shout in frustration, but, at least, he had the dagger now. He put it into one of the drawers in his bathroom, hiding it between the towels, but he would be able to find it rather quickly. No one knew when he would feel the urge to use it, after all.

~*O*~

James was sleeping, cradled in Harry's right arm, and Al was mincing along, holding his Dad's left hand. Harry knew that Albus enjoyed shopping with him. Well, not only shopping, but going wherever his Daddy went. Together they entered the shop, full of a great many different photo albums and photo frames.

"I think this one looks like the one that Draco had," Harry said, looking at one of them after looking around for some time. It was made of cut-glass with the elements of rock crystal, too, like Draco's, but he noticed that the tracery was a bit different; however, it was the same size as Draco's and it was rather expensive, too.

"No, Daddy," Albus shook his head.

"No?"

"No. It's pinkish. And... not same."

"You're right," Harry sighed. He had all the found pieces of Draco's frame with him, and, since he'd failed to find the one that looked exactly like Draco's, he decided to try to take the shards to a repair shop (after cleaning them from the blood), even though there weren't enough pieces. But that was the reason for the existence of repair shops, wasn't it? Only fifteen minutes after giving the shards to the shopkeeper it was ready and given back by the rather old man with the magical eye-socket loupe which he seemed to use even looking at the people. Harry was amazed, because the frame looked absolutely flawless. Now he wondered why he hadn't come here in the first place, instead of trying to find a replacement. He just hadn't expected that it could've possibly been repaired**_ this_** good. He failed to find the tiniest split or crack. It was polished, which made it look even more perfect. God, it was only a frame, but Harry felt like a load had been taken off his mind. How sad that a human soul couldn't be repaired this easily...

"Like new!" Al exclaimed when they left the repair shop.

"Shhh..." Harry hushed him with a wide smile. Jamie was usually quite unhappy and loud if he was woken up before he was actually ready to wake up.

The weather was fine enough to walk some more, so he and Albus were walking down the almost deserted street leisurely. James kept sleeping peacefully in Harry's arms.

"Now we buy wibbon?" Albus asked a bit excitedly.

"A ribbon?" Harry lifted his eyebrow in puzzlement, but then smiled. "No, Al. It's not a present, it's your apology. Draco is still upset, I'm sure. Just be polite; give it to him, apologise and promise him to never enter his room and touch anything of his again."

"I pwomise, Daddy," the boy nodded. "Um... Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Who's baby? Dwaco's son or daughter?"

"His little son. That picture is all Draco's been left of him."

"Why? Baby died?" the boy asked with sadness.

"He was taken away by bad people."

"Bad people take me, too?" Al gasped and clutched Harry's hand harder.

"No, of course, not," Harry assured, looking down into the green eyes, so similar to his own.

"Pwomise?"

"I promise."

"Okay..." Albus sighed in relief. But then, almost a minute later he said: "He angwy all the time and don't like anyone."

"Yeah..." Harry sighed. He wasn't sure his son was old enough to understand what slavery was and how people should never belong to other people like things, so he decided not to start talking about it.

He hoped Draco wouldn't fire up, yell at Al and throw the frame back at him. He was worried about it. He didn't want Al to be hurt and deprived of forgiveness. The boy really felt guilty for what he'd done and Harry approved it, because his child was learning to distinguish good from bad and to admit his mistakes.

~*O*~

In the evening when Draco had finished his loathsome work, the tentative knock on his door made him let out an irritated sigh.

"What?"

"Um... May I come in?" the small voice asked.

"What do you want?" Seriously, this annoying child was going to drive him mad. But it was mini-Potter, so there was nothing to be surprised at. Albus entered uncertainly. Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed and the boy approached him, though, not coming too close. He carefully put the ornate frame on the bed, as if it was the greatest treasure in the world. Draco was slightly surprised to see it in one piece. It was an old thing and it was hardly possible to find it in shops, so he decided that the frame had been repaired.

"It's apology, not gift. M'vewy, vewy sowwy," Al said shyly. His small face was blushing. In spite of not saying all he'd intended to say (he'd simply forgotten about it, due to his nervousness), he quickly retreated from Draco's room. Even if Draco looked impassive, the boy was worried that the man was going to be angry, and he didn't want to see it happen at all.

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_**REVIEW, PLEASE!**_


	8. Your Royal Bitterness

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

**My dear reviewers:** ShadowEntity (Thank you so much! I'm afraid Draco's demeanour was an answer by itself. He wasn't yelling or saying 'bad fings' and I think even Albus knows by now that it's a good sign. His silence was a sign that he wasn't really angry about the frame. He thinks he has more important reasons to fall apart than 'Potter's little brat'. But I hope you're going to like the new chapter :) ), Lientjuhh (Thanks a lot :) ! Draco's birthday is on the 5-th of June (it's not my idea, it's official :) ). It's autumn at this point of the story, so it wasn't very long ago. If only Harry had any news, I'm sure, he wouldn't be waiting to inform Draco, but there's no new information so far.), Paper Angels (I'm afraid I'll torture you some more. We'll find it out together with Harry. He's in charge here :). Thanks so much for reviewing!),harry and draco belong to each other (Thanks :)! Yes, Harry is amazingly patient), Poisoned Flowers (Thank you! Enjoy!), blackcurrent (Glad you liked it! Thanks! :) ), LeStrange(Don't go crazy and enjoy! Thank you! And, yes, I'd pull my hair out, too :) ),

Simply Scarfy(Thanks a lot! It's really good to know. I hope you're going to keep enjoying it. _**Congratulations on your new pen name! Sorry for not mentioning it before :)**_ ), please more (Thanks! I'm not abandoning it :) ), PrinceOfPariahs (Thank you! Yes, it's quite a challenge for poor Harry :) ), heyya15965 (Thanks for reviewing :) ! I promise I'll explain everything in later chapters.), Aquarinus (Thanks so much!), MDarKspIrIt (Thank you! I hope you're going to enjoy it!), Maureen (Always a pleasure to read your comments :) ! Thanks! I think Harry would talk to Draco about it if he had any news about Scorpius, good or bad, and since he has nothing to share yet, I suppose, he's a bit afraid to start this kind of talk. The subject is quite painful and, as you wrote, Draco is too resentful to take it well.), Viva Drarry(Wow, thanks!)

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_**8. Your Royal Bitterness**_

~*O*~

Draco found himself standing in front of some big building. There were children, fooling around in the playground, situated near the building, but it was surprisingly quiet, as if his ears were stuffed up. The area itself was surrounded by the wrought-iron fence, but Draco couldn't find the gates, especially feeling as weak as he felt right now. He felt like he was more than one hundred years old and walking was a difficult and incredibly exhausting challenge. And he felt like he didn't belong here at all. The feeling was strong and it confused him, but he could somehow feel it in the air. Finally, Draco saw the gates opening and he wondered why he hadn't noticed them before. He also saw the blond youth, who looked about sixteen years old. He came out, leaving the building behind the fence forever; at least, for some reason, it seemed like he was leaving the place forever, and the dark-brown roll-aboard suitcase strengthened this impression. At first Draco thought that he saw himself, because the youth looked almost like his own mirror image, but soon he realised that he was looking at his own grown up son. The thought just came to him instinctively, as a given. It wasn't surprising that the boy still looked so much like Draco, because Scorpius had been practically his father's copy since his birth. Draco was awed. He tried to come closer to his wonderful son, but his tired legs weren't obeying him; he tried to talk, tried to scream his son's name, tried to beg the boy to look at him, but he only managed to produce some pathetic, wheezing whispers, no matter how hard he tried. Oh, Merlin, why was he feeling this weak? Tears were streaming down his face. He reached out his desperate hands to his boy, who was the centre of Draco's universe right now, but his son wasn't noticing him, as if Draco wasn't even here. Broken-hearted he watched his boy leaving, unable to follow him. And then Scorpius was just gone; he disappeared in the foggy street, among the strangers. After that Draco found himself crawling on his four along the cobblestone road. He was surrounded by the fog, but kept crawling blindly, consumed by the atmosphere of hopelessness, helplessness and isolation from the life itself. He was so unnaturally slow. Sometimes he felt like he was making no headway at all, sometimes it felt like all of it wasn't even real. Was he dead?

Some of his voice seemed to have returned, and he was calling his boy's name again and again. He saw some passers-by that paid him no attention, but his son was nowhere to be seen. He suddenly was imbued with such pain and despair that he gave up and stopped. It felt like he'd just lost the _**last**_ chance, the _**last**_ hope to reunite with his boy, his dear Scorpius.

The acute feeling of heart-wrenching loss was still with him as Draco woke up with a start. His face was tear-drenched, and he found it hard to think clearly. Surprisingly, he rarely saw any dreams about his son, and this particular dream had been devastating. Hyperventilating, he got up and quickly headed to the bathroom, reeling and nearly falling on the stairs, feeling like his chest was about to explode as its content felt enormously swollen. He felt the strangling pressure that simply refused to release him. His boy... His child... Draco locked the door unconsciously and retrieved the dagger from the drawer; the movement seemed nearly perfected, even if it was the first time he was doing it since placing the item here. He kneeled before the bathtub and turned on the water, so its noise would drown cries of pain, in case he'd produce any. He rolled up the sleeve of his nightshirt and brought the blade closer to the skin of his forearm. Suddenly the curse forbade him to cut himself and his hands were shaking even more violently now that his attempts didn't work to his frustration. He sobbed desperately. Gods, he was so overwhelmed with emotional pain! It was just tearing him apart. And though it was very hard for him to think clearly, in his thoughts he tried to convince the curse that he wasn't going to attempt suicide, even if he didn't really mind right now. He could almost feel the curse calculating if the blade was clean enough and how much damage it could cause to his health. In the end, the curse was satisfied and let him regain control over his body...

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**A/N**: The next small part is removed, because I'm not sure if it's MA or not. If you're 18 or older, please follow the link and read the entire thing the way it should be, if you're not 18, don't.

http (colon) (double slash) hp. adult fanfiction. net (slash) story. php ? no (equals sign) 600095692 (ampersand) chapter (equals sign) 8

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..._'Scorpius, I'm so sorry...'_

The dream had unsettled him greatly and, even though he almost always made his housework automatically, today even less of him was there.

~*O*~

It was almost evening when Harry came back home and found Draco in the kitchen, tidying up. Harry wasn't noticing anything strange at first. His greeting was completely ignored, but it wasn't something new. He ate his dinner rather quickly right here, in the kitchen, and was about to go and spend some time with his children when the quite large, dark-red stain on the left sleeve of Draco's white shirt attracted his attention.

"Oh, my God, Draco..." he gasped and grasped the blonde's elbow lightly. Draco recoiled from the unexpected contact, but then he looked down and saw what had startled Potter. He had taken care of the cuts, bandaged his forearm, but, apparently, it hadn't been enough. He hadn't even been noticing that he was bleeding and that his sleeve was red with blood. It had left the imprint on the side of his white shirt.

"Sit down," Harry urged him and Draco sat down at the table. "Let me see." Harry reached out to unbutton his sleeve.

"No," Draco refused firmly and wanted to get up and leave, but, of course, Potter didn't let him.

"Please, just once, don't argue and let me help you."

"I don't want your help. I don't want you to heal me."

"I only want to staunch the bleeding."

"...Haven't done enough heroic deeds for today?" Draco grumbled very quietly, but he really wasn't eager to argue right now. Potter unbuttoned his cuff and rolled the sleeve up. He carefully removed the bandage, heavy with blood that saturated it, and it vanished away with the spell he cast. Harry's eyes widened at what he saw. He'd previously thought that the cut (or cuts) that Draco had made with the shard of glass had somehow been disturbed, so it had started to bleed again, even though almost two weeks had passed since the incident, so it was rather unlikely, but now he saw the truth and barely suppressed a shudder. There were three cuts. One of them looked thick and rough, with uneven edges that still hadn't entirely grown together. There were still several small gapes, filled with dry blood. It couldn't have been made with a straight and evenly sharp object, so it was obviously the glass cut. The other two were fresh and even. One of them was longer and deeper; it was the one that had soaked the bandage and sleeve with blood. The other one was hardly bleeding by now.

"My goodness..." Harry sighed. He sterilised his hands with a spell and very carefully cleaned Draco's wounds. Most cleaning spells would scrub the wounds, disturbing them even more, which could seriously increase the bleeding and inflammation, and ruin the healing progress. And thus Harry used the potion and clean towels for this purpose. "I could heal it. Not entirely, but I could patch you up a bit, so it would heal much sooner."

"No."

"Draco..."

"I don't think it's up for discussion."

"At least, let me use the spell to connect the edges of your wounds."

"Are you seriously going to do it every time I cut myself?" There was more curiosity in his voice than annoyance.

"If necessary. But I'd rather you stopped doing this to yourself," Harry sighed. He pressed the towel harder to the deepest wound and kept it under pressure. Draco winced a bit. It hurt, but he could endure it. Harry used both mechanical pressure and the spell to stop the bleeding. This combination usually worked fine, as far as he knew.

"If my memory serves me correctly, we've already decided that it's none of your concern. I didn't try to kill myself and these cuts aren't lethal. You know it would be impossible for me to end my life, since it belongs to you. It's your decision to make if you prefer to put me out of my misery or keep me alive and suffering."

"Draco... Why?"  
"Well... It comforts me; makes me feel that I control something, eases the other pain. You may also call it... rehearsal. I'm just getting ready for the real thing. You told me that Granger has been trying to abolish the slavery; I seriously doubt that she's going to succeed, but, anyway, let's pretend that she did. If I owned my life again, I already know what I'd do with it. I just wanted to know what it would feel like. Oh... I already knew... Well, I believe I just want to get used to the feeling then, so when I pick a day to off myself, if that day comes before I die as a slave for some other reason, it would feel like something normal to cut my flesh, a little bit deeper, though," Draco said, sounding unbearably casually. Harry closed his eyes for several moments. He really wanted to run away right now or yell at Draco for being selfish, saying things like this to the person who cared for him and who hurt over him. He sincerely hoped that the blond was just mocking him.

Harry decided not to say or ask anything else, so he wouldn't hear any more terrible confessions from Draco. Instead, he concentrated on his wounds. When he removed the pressure and took the towel away, the wounds filled up with blood again, but the blood was hardly flowing out, which was a very good sign. On the carefully cleaned skin around the wounds Harry noticed the faint scars that indicated the similar self-cutting experience in the past. And, of course, he noticed the dirty-pink, tender-looking patch of skin where the Dark Mark had once been. Harry had noticed it almost immediately after removing the bloody bandage, but now that the skin was cleaner he could take a better look. It had probably caused Draco too much pain to keep bearing the Mark if he'd decided to take such drastic measures to remove it. Somehow, Harry was sure that the blond had done it himself. He had a feeling that Draco had started to feel that he was being scrutinised and wasn't happy about it, so Harry returned to the task at hand and brought the antiseptic ointment and the new roll of bandage. Very carefully he applied the ointment and then cast the spell to bring the edges of the wounds together. It took some time to make a good work.

"It'll be over in a few moments," he promised, feeling Draco's tension and looking up at the slightly distorted face. This spell could, indeed, cause pain, not like muggle stitching, but it was still pretty painful. When it was done, Harry dressed the wound properly. He spelled the dressing to make it waterproof, so Draco could wash himself without soaking the wounds and the bandage itself. It took a few minutes to clean Draco's shirt magically without damaging the fabric.

"Please, let me know if it starts bleeding again," Harry asked softly. "I don't give a damn about the curse; you're injured, so I dismiss you from all your work today," he said in a peremptory, but calm tone that was rather intended for the curse than for Draco. The blond shivered slightly at the strength in Potter's voice. He could admit to himself (but only to himself) that it was quite remarkable. He felt the curse letting him go.

"I'm not that fragile," the blond said, nevertheless. But he wasn't about to refuse to have a good rest. Somewhere deep inside, somewhere where he didn't want to look, it felt nice to be taken care of.

Harry followed the blond with his worried eyes. He had no doubt that all he would ever be able to get was aloofness or hostility, but it didn't matter anymore. He cared about Draco; unconditionally. But, at the same time, he felt helpless. He needed someone to talk to, and, as usual, it was Hermione, who was willing to listen at any time.

~*O*~

However, almost two weeks later it was Hermione who needed his shoulder. Harry had been waiting for her when she flooed into the living room. Her face was wet with tears.

"Mione, what's wrong? Your message has scared the hell out of me," he said, deeply concerned. The message had explained nothing. Harry couldn't help but think that something had happened to Ron. Hermione sat down in the armchair and started crying again.

"She's dead, Harry... Babette..." she whispered. Babette had been Hermione's slave for more than a year, but they'd been very friendly with each other and the woman, who'd been almost ten years older, had been very grateful for being saved from the monster that had owned her before.

"How?.." Harry gasped.

"She died of suffocation in her sleep. Her immune system was already weakened, but she caught cold... And then it turned into severe bronchitis despite the healing. She seemed to start feeling better, so they discharged her from hospital. And tonight..." She couldn't continue.

"Hermione, I'm sorry... She was a very good person."

"I wanted to save her... I hoped I'd be able to free her someday. It's so unfair. Healers were right about slaves, and I thought it was just a myth."

"God..." Harry buried his head in his hands. It was Albus who interrupted several moments of silence.

"Daddy, Jamie waked and cwying," he informed.

"Sorry, Mione, I'll be right back," Harry apologised.

"Go. I'll be all right," she assured. She wiped her face with the handkerchief and decided to go to the kitchen to have a glass of water. Draco was there, making tea and paying her no attention. She drank some water, looking at him covertly.

"Draco, are you all right?" she finally asked. "Are you feeling well? I mean your health..." she corrected herself in the end. Draco was irritated after the sleepless night and his still healing cuts were itching; not to mention his strong dislike of her nosiness, so her questions were enough to make him snap.

"I see you've found the more entertaining occupation than killing the house elves, mudblood. I don't need your pity and your care, so kindly fuck off. I have some work to do for my Master," he almost hissed. The curse punished him (he hadn't expected it to hurt him for insulting someone to whom he didn't belong, but, since Granger (now Weasley) was his owner's friend, the punishment probably made sense), and Hermione, seeing him shaking in pain and arching his back slightly, left him alone. For now.

~*O*~

Her next visit more than one week later was more optimistic. She was slowly moving on after Babette's death and had some news. She asked Harry to invite Draco to the living room, so they could talk. The reluctant blond was offered to sit down, which he did. Hermione told him that she and several other people were making the research about the curse and they were probably on the way to find the opportunity to give slaves a bit more freedom, such as making it possible for them to take a payment for their work, which currently was unthinkable. It was still remained to be seen how well it would work, so they needed more slaves to take part in it, and, perhaps, it would be the beginning of some more important discoveries. Hermione thought it was important, even if her main priority was abolition of slavery.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" Draco sighed tiredly. He always thought she was one of those people that would pester their acquaintances with questions like: 'Where are you going?', 'What are you looking at?', 'What are you thinking about?' and so on. It irritated him and, fortunately for him, they were in bad enough terms, so he was spared of such infuriating attention. She was, however, the one who had a finger in every pie. Her Gryffindor friends took it well, which, in Draco's point of view, was sickening. "I refuse to take part in that stupid research of yours, unless you order me to." He cast a glance at Potter in the end.

"There's a chance for you to have more rights and to be less dependant on the curse," Harry tried to convince him, but he already knew that it was useless. He just wanted to support Hermione.

"Are you trying to treat me as an equal? Well, it's not going to work. I'm a slave. I'm going to keep doing my chores as before; it's better than taking your help or your fucking handouts. Shove them up your arse, because I won't take anything from you. Slaves aren't servants; they aren't supposed to be paid for their work. It's your fault that slavery exists, and I'm not taking part in your idiotic attempts to 'set things right', so you'd be able to ease your feeling of guilt at my expense. I'd rather be a good and obedient property, as I should be. I want you to be ashamed of yourself every time you look at me. I know it's too much to hope for, but I want you to hate yourself for what you've done to this world."

"Thank you, Draco, I already do," Hermione said, even though the words full of accusation had mostly been addressed to Harry. Draco ignored her.

"If you're so eager to help me, Master, and save yourself from my further burdening presence, let me die. You only humiliate me and torture both me and yourself with your unhealthy altruism, so why don't you let me end it? Why do you keep hurting me? I might start thinking that you enjoy it. Just give me your permission to kill myself. I'll do it silently, without bothering your family, without any blood to clean. I have nothing, not even my life, because it doesn't belong to me; _**I**_ don't belong to myself. Pathetic? Well, sorry, you wanted to hear what I think. And now that you've got my answer, may I go?" he asked impatiently. Harry nodded in defeat and Draco left. Something had broken inside of Harry at the blonde's words.

"Well... We had to try anyway. I knew he'd refuse, I just wanted him to know that we're not giving up," Hermione sighed.

"Do you think he seriously wants to commit suicide?" Harry asked carefully.

"I think... I think he really feels like doing it, but I don't think he'd do it if he had a chance; not before doing anything and everything to find his son, anyway."

~*O*~

Living under the same roof with Potter's wife seemed less and less bearable. It seemed that the bitch was only happy to show her power over Draco in front of the other people, even though her husband was the real owner. She often was unhappy with his work, so she ordered him to remake the same things again.

Several friends decided to gather in Harry's and Ginny's house to celebrate Ron's homecoming and his holidays after a good amount of successful games. Harry was still at work, so it was Ginny who was welcoming the guests. Harry usually let Draco do something else away from the guests, knowing that it was much more comfortable for the blond to stay away from all of them, but Ginny never allowed anything like that when Harry was away.

When some arrived guests (Hermione, Ron, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas with his girlfriend and Oliver Wood) gathered in the living room, Ginny was livid, ordering Draco to bring this or that and constantly mumbling how useless he was, as he hadn't prepared everything in time, before everyone had arrived, and she'd been too busy with cooking to make sure he wouldn't 'ruin the party with his worthlessness'.

"Malfoy looks even less amicable than in school," Seamus noted quietly, but not quiet enough, because Draco heard him, though he couldn't care less what ex-Gryffindors thought of him.

"Don't mind him. He's just a work-shy idler and he's still mad that the purity of his blood doesn't make him important anymore," Ginny replied loud enough, so everyone in the room heard her. "It's true, isn't it, Malfoy? Tell us. I order you to answer."

"Ginny..." Hermione frowned. Draco would have ignored Potter's bitch, as usual, but he couldn't ignore the direct order. The curse wouldn't let him. Very insistently it urged him to answer.

"So authoritarian," he sneered at the redhead bitch mockingly. "Yes, I'm proud of being born as pureblood. Only purebloods kept this world the way it should be; it's the _**wizarding**_ world, after all. At least, it was."

"What's going on?" Harry asked, entering the room. Everyone ignored him, which was unusual.

"See? He doesn't even consider muggle-borns as real wizards and witches," Ginny exclaimed. Draco had known she would distort his words the way she wanted to. "I find it odd that you and your family had run from your dear Dark Lord and decided not to die together with him, since you still sound like his devoted follower."

"No, I don't. But you're not really burdened with enough intelligence to understand. He was a bloodthirsty maniac and he wasn't even a pureblood, by the way. And he killed purebloods, too. I would've never served a monster like him of my own free will, just like I would've never served people like you," the blond replied calmly. The curse still urged him to answer and he didn't hold back. At the same time, it wasn't pleased with his arrowy tongue.

"Right. I bet serving us, mudbloods and blood traitors, is worse than death to you. Who would've imagined Draco Malfoy being owned by the family he hates the most."

"The irony, indeed. Just like the bunch of 'virtuous' and 'blameless' philanthropists that wanted to change the world and free it from all the evil and injustice, but ended up buying slaves. To _**save**_ them, undoubtedly. Oh, I'm sorry, back to the point. It's not even about the blood purity, I couldn't care less if you had no blood at all, it's about ruining the traditions and the way of life of your own world. Tell me, Weasley," he addressed to Ron, who was listening like everyone else in the room. "Do you remember your childhood life before the Dark Lord's return? Before all that anti-muggle-born and now muggle-born propaganda? Do you remember what the world was like? Was it bad?"

"No... It was mostly peaceful," Ron admitted.

"Exactly. The world was normal even for muggle-borns to live in peace. Purebloods only protested against the mudbloods to take up high positions in the Ministry and other important organisations. And, for the most part, it was justified by the purpose of doing everything possible to avoid the influence of the muggle culture. Because most muggle-borns don't really respect our traditions or even have absolutely no idea about them. They've always tried to drive this world to the way that it simply shouldn't take. And what now? It was some mudblood with great ambitions that allowed human slavery. You helped him to become the minister, by the way. And, naturally, all of you find it normal that in Hogwarts there are several _**required**_ subjects of the muggle orientation these days. In the school of magicchildren nowadays study muggle history, literature and philosophy. And what about the wizarding literature and philosophy? It's just non-essential. You're pathetic parasites that occupy the world that you hardly even know. Weasley, send your parents my regards. I guess today's world is what they've always fought for."

"You have no right to blame us!" Ron fired up. "This isn't what any of us wanted! Some foul people used the opportunity to satisfy their thirst for power and tricked common people."

"Oh, poor common people!" Draco chuckled sarcastically. "They say_people get_ the _government they deserve_. What an irony, it's a muggle expression. Well, our poor common people were stupid enough to elect the opportunistic bastard that enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice, because, of course, he'll avenge all the victims of war and set things right. Isn't that what he promised during his election campaign?"

"My parents have nothing to do with that and with all the anti-purebloods propaganda!" Ron kept arguing.

"...That's why they turned their backs on your brother Percy long ago; because he was proud of being a pureblood and persisted in his opinion."

"Shut your mouth about our brother!" Ginny hissed.

"Ginny, please..." Harry tried. God, it was going too far.

"Well, sorry, but you've _**ordered**_ me to speak and the fucking curse forces me to obey," Draco sneered at Potter's wife again, even though he felt that he was dangerously close to being punished by said curse. Oh, gods, he hated her freckled face!

"It was he, who turned his back on us," Ron frowned. "He was the ex-minister's puppet. Don't talk about things that you have no idea about. And we're not ashamed of our blood, either. We just never make a fuss over it, unlike you."

"...He was so alone among all of you with his different point of view," Draco continued, knowing that he'd found the sore spot. "He didn't stand a chance, I reckon. There's no way his own family would accept such a black sheep with his 'wrong' beliefs. Even worse, he married the conservative pureblood witch, which, I imagine, your father has strongly disapproved."

"You don't know a fucking thing." Ginny looked at him angrily, but he wasn't impressed.

"I know quite enough. But trying to explain anything to the pigheaded fools like you is a thankless waste of time."

"I don't think we should reckon with the opinion of a Death Eater, a complete failure of a man, and an idiot, who solves all his problems by cutting himself and drawing blood. It's so pathetic," Ginny said and this time it was she who knew that she'd hit the nerve. She looked at Draco's shock victoriously, glad that she'd found the fortunate moment to use the ace she'd been keeping up her sleeve. Just for one second there was a deep look of betrayal on Draco's face as he cast a glance at Harry. The dark-haired man felt absolutely mortified. He hadn't told Ginny any of it on purpose; she'd just entered the room when Harry had been firecalling Hermione to ask for her advice and to tell her about Draco's self-mutilation, feeling too terrible to keep it to himself and knowing that Hermione would never betray a secret that wasn't her own. Ginny had heard some small part of their conversation, but obviously she'd heard enough. In any case, Harry hadn't expected her to use this information against Draco or him. It was too personal to just reveal it in front of everybody! That brief look of betrayal in Draco's eyes made the dark-haired man aware that it was _**he**_, Harry, who was blamed for absolutely everything. Again.

"That's enough," he said and took Ginny by her arm to lead her away.

"Really, guys, that was a bit too much," Oliver agreed quietly.

"You cut yourself? It's... sick..." Ron muttered before he could stop himself. Hermione glared at him sharply, making him know that there was going to be a one-hour-long lecture once they return home.

"You're right, it is," Draco answered, nevertheless. "You see, Weasley, it's like an arachnophobia; it's sick, but there's nothing you can do about it." It was probably a very poor retort, but he couldn't come up with anything better than that, taken unawares and still shocked by what Potter's bitch had just said.

"Draco... If the curse is satisfied with your work, you're free to go," Harry said softly. And Draco left right away; he'd already exceeded his minimum quota of work for today, but the bitch hadn't been letting him go.

"It was a low thing to do, Ginny," Harry frowned and Hermione supported him.

"He insulted your family and you keep excusing him," Ginny disagreed. "I don't think I said something any worse than he said. He deserved it."

"It's not the same. Not in his situation. You shouldn't have started it," Hermione shook her head. But no one was eager to continue arguing.

Soon Harry, finding no peace, was about to go after Draco to apologise, but Hermione stopped him, quietly saying that it was too soon.

More people arrived, including George, Luna and Neville. Harry's mood had been ruined, but he tried his best to have fun, spending time with his friends. He wasn't alone, though; Hermione was still sad because of Babette's death.

Later in the evening Harry was a tiny bit tipsy and courageous enough to leave the party and go downstairs, straight to Draco's room. To apologise. The urge to do it seemed to inflate his chest. He'd made sure Hermione was busy talking with some other guests, so this time she wouldn't stop him like she'd done before.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer. Harry frowned. He couldn't be just ignored right now when he wanted to ask for forgiveness so badly, so he just entered (after all, he'd knocked before it, hadn't he?). What met his eyes stunned him and sobered him up at once. Draco was standing there, with his hair still wet after bath, holding the hairbrush in his hand. And, oh, dear God,_** he was naked**_. The blond was just as stunned. Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. _'Turn away... Turn away. Now!'_ his frantic mind commanded him, but he couldn't obey. God, it was better than all his fantasies back in their sixth year. Draco was captivating... His lean body looked so chiselled. The skin was as porcelain as Harry had imagined.., only better. He had very little body hair, and what hair he had were very light and thin hairs on his forearms and shins. They seemed invisible everywhere else, except for his pubis and, most likely, armpits, though the latter Harry couldn't see, because Draco's arms were lowered. The blonde's chest and stomach were completely hairless, as far as Harry could see from this distance. The flat stomach was lightly toned. There, below it, was the pale penis, surrounded by the soft-looking blond hair and resting peacefully against the scrotum. The pink head was peeping out of the foreskin teasingly. Draco had narrow bones, narrow chest, waist and thighs; he had pointed elbows and lean arms, prominent collarbones and absolutely beautiful neck. The bandage, still tightly wrapped around the healing forearm (which had been healing for quite a long time, probably because of the curse), seemed to be the only thing that kept Harry aware that all of it, all this beauty, was real, not imagined, not embellished. He feasted his eyes upon this beautiful body. His manhood was waking up with curiosity. Harry wasn't sure if he was breathing, but he simply couldn't stop looking. As Draco, still quite astounded, slowly turned to grab the towel that was lying on his bed, his side view, and partly his back view, opened to Harry's greedy, unblinking eyes. The delicious curve of the small of Draco's back made his pert bum look even more attractive. This sweet curve sent another wave of arousal to Harry's pulsing groin. And two small, breathtaking dimples right above Draco's bottom on each side of the spine were too much for Harry to take. He felt himself growing down there, filling with pleasant tension. He felt dizzy and needed air, so he finally inhaled. Inhaled the smell of the wizarding brand of shampoo and cologne that somehow resembled the freshness of rain (the one he himself had chosen for Draco and kept buying it, because the blond used it eagerly); inhaled the smell of Draco...

"What the fuck are you looking at?" the blond hissed in shock, looking back with wide, disbelieving eyes. He wrapped the large bath towel around his hips, covering his most private parts.

"I..."

"You're staring at me..."

"Sorry, Draco," Harry whispered. Beautiful narrow feet on the Persian rug... Long legs... _'Oh, fuck, turn away... What the hell are you doing?' _he tried to reason with himself.

"You don't look sorry. You keep staring." Draco was getting furious and Harry wondered if he should start preparing himself for the apocalypse. He lifted his face and met two angry grey eyes. "Is this what you want, Master? Do you want me to be _**that **_kind of slave now? Come on, you only need to order and you can have it all. It's your prerogative, is it not? You can burst in whenever and wherever you want, and that's fine, because it's your house."

"I knocked," Harry argued quietly and weakly. But Draco wasn't listening.

"...You can discuss my 'dubious methods of solving all my problems' with the other people, with your bitch of a wife especially! So what stops you from taking everything else you want? I'm your property, and thus you can have me any time and there'd be no punishment, because technically you have every right to do it. So go ahead!" he taunted angrily. Just as angrily he ripped off the towel in frustration and threw it back on the bed. Harry stormed out, mortified to no end.

Draco slammed the door furiously. Why, oh why Potter had to be such an idiot? The meddlesome, moronic Gryffindor! Draco really doubted that Potter was really interested in his body; he thought that his nudity had merely taken Potter by surprise and put him in the awkward situation. Well, perhaps, there'd been some curiosity (why else such scrutiny?), but not a dangerous one for Draco. Nothing to worry about. _'Just a nosy fool.'_ But Draco had wanted to embarrass Potter, so he wouldn't have been the only one embarrassed; and it had worked, judging by the colour of Potter's face. Draco probably wouldn't have made such a fuss if he wasn't this agitated by the twat that Potter had married. He would've probably mocked Potter, in any case, but without taking it to heart. However, he was still seething with anger and imagined hitting the freckled face of Potter's bitch against the wall! And, just think, he'd just started to have a faint feeling that Potter really cared about him a little, not because of his idiotic heroism, but... just cared, which included keeping Draco's secret! Draco had been deluded by the way Potter had taken care of his wounds back then and it had really felt like care; like Draco's mother had been treating his cuts, without blaming him, without telling anyone else (and not because she'd been ashamed of him; she hadn't been ashamed of her son at all, and she'd made him aware of it). It had been very nice of Potter to leave the vial of pain relieving potion in Draco's bathroom in a plain view the very same day. And, relieved to find it there in the middle of the sleepless night, Draco had taken it, because that very first night the pain was too strong to fall asleep. He had secretly appreciated Potter's thoughtfulness and care. But, obviously, Draco had made a mistake and paid for it. And now he felt stupid. Potter wasn't a trustworthy person; not for him, anyway. Of course, Gryffindors couldn't keep their fucking mouths shut! They shared everything with each other within their small community, even things that were none of their concern. That's why Potter had told his fucking wife, even knowing that she hated Draco dearly, just like Draco hated her. That's why Granger (well, Weasley, not Granger anymore...) hadn't looked surprised; she'd already known everything from Potter. He hated all of them. And hated himself for even conceding that he could relax in Potter's strong presence.

What Draco hadn't noticed was the hard bulge in Harry's pants. But, for Harry's sake, his rapturous and hopeful erection had started to droop unhappily due to Draco's harsh words that had been a very effective turn off. And, once Harry had got to his bedroom, locked the door and pressed his back against it, still flushed and breathing heavily, the erection was gone completely. God, he couldn't remember when he'd felt more aroused than he'd felt whilst ogling Draco's beautiful, naked body! He also tried to remember when he'd been more ashamed of himself than he was right now (when he'd bought Draco, probably?). He hoped that the blond hadn't noticed his arousal; it had been mortifying as it was. _'Fucking wonderful...'_ Now Draco was probably thinking that Harry was a pervert, not to mention that it was a very inappropriate behaviour near a rape victim, even if it had been months since that terrible night. Harry was nothing like Dawson, whatever the swine had told him. _'...How unfortunate; having him as a slave and having no guts to do what I did. You do want that, don't you? You should try some time. I could tell you how it felt. I could tell you how it felt, having control over him, having him squirming under me. I assure you, Mister Potter, I've made it unforgettable for him...'_ He remembered only the scraps of those words, but it was enough to make him shiver and hate himself.

For these reasons he was torn apart when later in the shower his hand reached down to his renewed arousal and it didn't feel right. _'Do it and calm the fuck down...' _he soothed himself._ 'You have no inappropriate intentions, no intention to take advantage of him. So what if you're hard? You know you wouldn't act on it, so stop feeling guilty. It just can't get any worse than it already is, so have fun...' _Angles and slight curves of Draco's body had stamped an impression on Harry's mind. And Harry allowed himself the guilty pleasure of stroking himself, whilst imagining what it would have felt like to press his own body to Draco's and rub against it, touch the smooth, porcelain skin with his own. The very thought made him start panting. He was sure it would've felt like haven if only he had a chance to try... He imagined guiding the pale hand down to his groin, making it grasp his rock hard erection and squeeze it lightly. He imagined looking into the grey eyes, full of need, not hostility. Biting his lower lip, he came far too soon with a deep, guttural moan, and rested his head against the wall, while the lukewarm water was softly cooling his body and mind.

When he finally made it to his bed, he couldn't fall asleep and was just looking up at the ceiling. Too many thoughts were plaguing his head. All of them were full of Draco. If it had been possible to fuck up everything between them even more, he'd done it today, undoubtedly. He was so tired...

~*O*~

For the next two days Draco ignored him completely. He silently made his work and left to his room in the evening. He was still mad, having no doubt that Potter had told the bitch about his self-mutilation. Even though all those people, their guests, meant nothing to Draco, being humiliated like that in front of them was simply unthinkable.

In the end of the second day restless Harry followed Draco to his room.

"Wait," he called, stopping Draco from closing the door. The blond turned to Harry just beyond the threshold. His unforgiving and, at the same time, indifferent eyes were discouraging, but Harry wasn't about to give up.

"Look... I thought I could, at least, have a chance to explain myself and apologise," he started, his voice calm and confident. The door was shut in his face.

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	9. Closer to the Edge of the Abyss

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.**

**My dear reviewers:**

Lientjuhh (Thank you!), Paper Angels (You seem optimistic :). But Harry and Draco are pretty different, to, aren't they? Thanks a lot for reviewing!), Viva Drarry (Glad you liked. Thanks!), Koiame (Thank you! I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter :) ), DS2010 (She is! But I can't portray her being happy about the current situation :). Thanks!), guns And ROSES 2656 (Thank you so much!), LeStrange (Good to know! Thanks!), Simply. Scarfy (Once again, thank you, my dear! I'm glad you enjoy reading this story!), Poisoned Flowers (Haha! It's nice to know you liked it so much :). Thanks.), Prince Of Pariahs (You're good in analysing ;). Thank you!), Nyx (Trust me, I know when to stop. Just be patient with me, please :). Thanks for your comment!), makoslits (Thank you so much :)!), vel (Thank you! And here it is!), Aquarinus (I'm so glad you agree with me! Voldemort was too extreme, of course, but still I tried to understand the thoughts of any regular pureblood. I think I can understand their reasons to think what they think. I don't think they are bloodthirsty in general, they just don't want to die out. Thank you!), harry and draco belong to each other (I can't argue with that! Thanks!), Alexandria (Thank you!), Maureen (Thank you very much! :) I'm so happy to know you're enjoying it!)

I'm sorry for mutilating some of your pen names, but they wouldn't show here otherwise :/.

* * *

_**9. Closer to the Edge of the Abyss**_

~*O*~

Draco always did what Harry asked him to (which wasn't often), but otherwise kept ignoring him, and when he couldn't ignore, he became terribly mordant and acrimonious; but Harry had mostly got used to the blonde's insufferable attitude.

~*O*~

Meanwhile, the only remarkable thing these days was the invitation to the opening ceremony of the new quidditch school for children and teens older than ten, younger than eighteen. It was intended for summer holidays and days off, so it wouldn't interfere with children's education. There were other summer quidditch schools, of course, but this one promised to be one of the best. Harry wasn't happy about the entire idea of attending the event, wasn't in the mood for such things, especially since he'd finally got rid of the reporters after the trials that had made them stalk him for just a tiny piece of information. But he couldn't just ignore the event, since there were going to be a lot of children, dreaming of seeing the Saviour with their own innocent eyes. Ron and Hermione were going to be there, so he decided not to disappoint the young public, too. He wasn't sure he would be able to relax with his friends on the banquet, though. And yet, it was decided.

Early in the morning Molly had already taken the children to look after them in their parents' absence and while they were getting ready and dressing themselves.

Draco was tidying up in the kitchen when Harry entered. Semiramis was sitting on the window sill, looking at the blond.

"Slovenly pigs..." Draco grumbled quietly, scrubbing the inside of the cooking pot, trying to clean the burnt porridge away. He didn't seem to notice Harry's presence.

"You could try to raise a rebellion. Slaves do it sometimes, you know," Semiramis set on with a smirk. She also smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes at this.

"Oh, please..." The blond hissed with annoyance. "That damned curse is eating me alive, so don't give it ideas."

"Semiramis," Harry called. He'd already found out long ago that calling her 'Semie' or 'Mira' wasn't a good idea, because she found it offensive and refused to respond (and her claws were bloody sharp). Draco didn't even acknowledge his presence, but it wasn't unusual.

"Yes, human?" Semiramis purred.

"May I have a word with you?"

"If you must." The sphinx followed him and entered the living room gracefully. "Is there something you want from me?" she asked. She sounded like she was flirting, but she sounded this way pretty often.

"Look, I really need your help. I'm waiting for a firecall from my colleague; he hasn't firecalled, yet, and I forgot to tell him that I'd be away today. Could you answer the firecall and memorise several addresses he might tell you?"

"I don't know..." the sphinx murmured thoughtfully. "There's a chance I'll be sleeping or reading something too interesting to be interrupted."

"I'll buy you some new jewellery. How about earrings and a pendant?" Harry smiled. She livened up immediately and he had all the attention of her dark-amber eyes.

"Interesting," she purred, jumping up onto the sofa to sit across the coffee table from him. "If it's something worthy, of course. You can buy cheap pieces of junk to your wife. I want something exquisite. Gold and ruby," she demanded with the excited movement of her tufted tail. Harry sighed. Semiramis had a lot of expensive jewellery, but it was never enough for her.

"We'll see," he said. But she wasn't going to give up.

"I wonder why you don't decorate your slave as well. He'd look nice with white gold and diamonds, probably blue diamonds, on his fair neck and hands: wrists and fingers. Ummm... Maybe, his ankles, too. His hands look gentle and jewellery would only accentuate their beauty. Such rare beauty belongs to the highest ranks of some royal harem, but you put him in the kitchen, instead." She hemmed and shrugged, slightly curling her lip.

"Goodness, are you on catmint again? In what century were you born to say things like this?" Harry scowled a little.

"It doesn't matter; you know I still have some memory of my ancestors. What I'm really trying to say is that I see the way you look at him. Especially his back, mainly his lower back; his hands and hair, and his face when he can not see you ogling him. And... you _**absolutely**_ adore his neck."

"God..." Harry blushed slightly. Either she was too observant, or he'd become less discreet after that mortifying evening when he'd entered Draco's room and his disobedient eyes had been all over the stunningly beautiful body. Perhaps, he'd become even bolder after that, whilst looking at Draco. Too bold for his own good...

"In the time of my distant ancestors, it was absolutely normal for a man to desire another man; in Greece, Rome and some other countries," her magical voice activated Harry's inner eye and made him see two, supposedly Roman, young men, making love and kissing passionately on some combination of bed and sofa. Harry could hear their distant moans. Their attires and sandals on the floor suggested that one of them was probably a servant (or even a slave) and the other one was his master. In any case, they looked really taken with each other. Their surroundings resembled a rich house of the ancient times with columns and such things. After their lovemaking the young men were drinking wine and talking about something that Harry couldn't understand, due to their foreign language and quiet, distant words. Some phrases sounded affectionate and they smiled at each other from time to time. And then one of them sounded like he was boasting, in order to impress the other man. After that Harry saw the same couple sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. The vision was a bit unclear, but it was enough to make Harry's face flush. He was speechless at the show he'd just witnessed. Of course, he'd known that all of it had been usual and normal in the ancient times; he just hadn't expected to actually see it.

"Hmmm?" Semiramis teased with a smirk on her proud face. "Is that what you want, hero?"

"Stop it..."

"...Like the statue of Nisus and Euryalus together... What a pure desperation... Such things were generally accepted back then, but now... You, humans, are not that open-minded any longer. But a lot of you still want it; some of you want it very, very badly," she purred and smirked again, looking into his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Harry sighed.

"Oh, it does!" the sphinx exclaimed and then she gave him another wry smile. "What I know for a fact is that you _**don't want**_ me to inform you wife that you fantasise about sharing a bed with your blond slave, so you'll consider my request. Gold and ruby."

"God! I can't believe it! So it was all about some jewellery?" Harry chuckled, a bit shocked.

"In part," she nodded and kept smiling at him.

The sphinx was terrible as a pet. She wasn't even a pet, she was a _**person**_. When she'd just been given to him as a present, he hadn't known how to even feed her, so he'd bought her some cat food, for which he'd been scratched so deeply and painfully that the wounds on his hand had been healing for almost three weeks even with magic and potions. It had taught him to ask her opinion about her food and other things she required. She even had the room of her own in his house.

Semiramis and Ron hadn't liked each other from the start. When he'd first seen her, he'd accidentally slipped something about her, something she found offensive, which had angered her and she had hissed at him and called him a 'dogfucker' to the redhead's shock and indignation, and Harry had nearly choked to death on his butterbeer as he'd heard it. Later Ron had attempted to reconcile with her, and though they hadn't become friendly with each other, Semiramis had stopped mocking him every time she saw him.

And one day when she'd decided to take a walk in wizarding London alone and visit a tailor to purchase another bodice or two (because, of course, she didn't have enough clothes, even if there were two huge ornate chests in her room, full of expensive clothes that a female sphinx could wear), some unwise criminal had spotted her walking down the street and had tried to kidnap the rare creature that cost a fortune, she had nearly split her light-sandy sides with laughter, looking at him as if he was some funny insect. The man had been confused at her reaction and at the fact that his stunning spell hadn't worked. And, using the opportunity, she had scratched his eyes out, leaving him almost blind for life and in Azkaban for two years. Harry couldn't help but pity the fool when he'd seen her handiwork.

And now she was blackmailing him! She would have made a perfect Slytherin if sphinxes were allowed in Hogwarts, which, of course, was bizarre. And, ironically, the one that had gifted her to Harry after the war, the Kenyan ambassador, who had wanted to express his respect, had told Harry that the gift was just meant for a true Gryffindor (perhaps, something to do with sphinxes being physically part-lions, and lions were something very Gryffindorish). Hah!

At any rate, Harry found this blackmailing situation amusing. It was more like a prank than a real blackmail.

"I wish I could find it just as funny," he sighed. "Let's return to my original request."

"You're lucky that I'm going to live for another three hundred years, whereas all of you will perish much sooner, so I might probably have some time to spare for your request," she nodded lazily and started to sharpen her claws against the expensive sofa upholstery. Harry frowned at her, but she only smiled at him again.

While Ginny was dressing up, Harry decided to have a cup of tea in the kitchen. Draco was still there. Harry noticed that the blond looked at him critically for a brief moment, shook his head, and returned to his work.

"What?" Harry frowned a little and looked down at himself from chest to boots. He found nothing funny and wondered what was there so wrong about him in Draco's opinion (on the other hand, what wasn't?). He even straightened the collar of his button down shirt, black with thin grey and blue strips.

"Nothing, Master," the blond shrugged, without looking back, and continued cleaning the kitchen furniture.

"No, tell me, please," Harry insisted, placing his hands on his hips. Semiramis jumped up onto the chair and sat down to watch the scene curiously.

"It's just funny to see someone, who's going to attend such kind of event, looking like a beggar," the blond shrugged again, nodding at Harry's blue jeans.

"I'm pretty sure that you know that these are called _**jeans**_, and I bought them only several days ago, so they are new; and, believe me, they aren't cheap," Harry sighed in annoyance. "I'm sure you've seen such kind of pants on some people every day off in Hogwarts. You've seen them on me plenty of times. It's just regular muggle clothes. Even incredibly rich muggles wear it."

"In this case they have nor taste, nor dignity, wearing something like this only to look like dirty tramps. It's disgusting. But I'm not surprised, because you obviously want to turn this world into a copy of the muggle world. I'm surprised that people still use magic here," the blond scowled. Harry's amusement was almost gone with the last two sentences, but he didn't lose his composure.

"God... Do you really have to dramatise everything?" He rolled his eyes and sighed. "All right... You think I have to change into a formal robe?"

"If you have, at least, some respect for the people you're going to meet and yourself, in the first place, then do it. Personally, I don't care"

"Does it really look so offensive to those who were born in this world?" Harry asked curiously, looking down at himself again. "Ignore that you hate me personally for a moment and answer, please." It wasn't often he had even _**this**_ kind of conversation with Draco, so he was eager to give it a try.

"You're their hero, their god, so, unfortunately, they won't say a word about your appearance, I'm sure of it. But normally a lot of people, traditionalists especially, find such clothes untidy and inappropriate, at least, for any decent place and company. It's just as ridiculous as plastic furniture, or _**anything**_ made of that sickening material, and other muggle, equally stupid, things, like coffee without caffeine, fake sugar and those disgusting tea bags that you'd been using, before I started to brew you _**normal**_ tea. I hope you don't think that I do it because I care about you in any way, I don't; it just sickens me to see those bags. I don't even want to mention that disgusting pop-music, or whatever muggles call that abomination, which your wife enjoys listening from time to time. I wonder if you saved this world only to ruin it with all that muggle shit. Oh, don't bother answering; it was rather rhetorical... Anyway, if you don't respect others then, at least, respect yourself and wear something decent." When Draco finished his tirade, Harry left with a sigh; the blond kept doing his work impassively.

About twenty minutes later he heard footsteps, as someone entered the kitchen again when Draco was standing on the window sill, washing the window with the cleaning potion and cloths.

"Well?" Potter's voice asked.

"What else, Master?" Draco sighed with irritation, wondering why Potter was still here, not on that fucking opening ceremony. When he turned his face to him, however, he was speechless. Potter actually looked good! His dark-blue (almost black) formal robe didn't look very expensive, but it was new and made from high quality fabric. There were matching trousers underneath it, the bright-white, buttoned-down shirt and the dark-grey tie with thin pale-blue strips.

"Do I look like a proper wizard to you now?" he smiled almost teasingly and turned around, so Draco would be able to see his attire better. Potter's hair, of course, was as wild as usual, but it didn't ruin his appearance at all. Harry could swear that Draco looked impressed.

"It... needs just a little bit more ironing, but wrinkles are almost invisible; not striking, anyway. All in all, in my honest opinion, it looks... fine." he admitted quietly.

"Thanks," Harry smiled. Draco talking civil to him was worth having a pensive to be able to watch this remarkable memory over and over again. Or maybe he should wear something like this all the time, just to see these grey eyes paying attention to him, not empty, cold or full of hatred like they were most of the time in Harry's presence. "I'm quite used to casual muggle clothes and my auror robes. Sometimes I do wear things like this," he admitted, looking down at his attire. "But putting them on takes more time than I'm ready to waste on such things."

"Well, too bad for you then," Draco shrugged and returned to work. He thought that if only he wasn't angry with Potter so much, he would've been more sincere and somehow confessed that he actually found him attractive. Potter wasn't ugly (he was, in fact, quite handsome, but the hell had to freeze over and become completely snowed up before Draco would be ready to admit it openly now; it wasn't easy to admit anything like this even in his thoughts, even if he had almost easily admitted it to himself in the past when he hadn't been this embittered), but good clothes and straight back always made people look much better than they looked without those attributes; Draco had known it since his childhood.

"Harry, are you ready? We're going to be late," the voice of Potter's wife called; the voice that Draco hated so much.

"I'm ready. See you later, Draco." There was no response, though the blond looked back out of the corner of his eye (something that always made Harry feel oddly fascinated). At the same time, Draco saw the redhead, standing at the door in the dark-red dress that could be both casual and, in some cases, evening. It was a muggle knee-length dress with shoulder straps. To demonstrate even more nauseating freckles, it seemed! Potter would've looked even better if he got rid of the tiresome freckled twat he called wife, so she wouldn't ruin his appearance with hers, even if many people found her quite _**pretty**_. They had no taste; to Draco it was obvious. He wished her to become just as fat as her mother, as soon as possible, so people would finally see the truth. In addition it would be nice if people saw her yelling at someone like she yelled at him sometimes, scrunching up her freckled face, making it look really ugly. Ugly, fat with those disgusting ginger spots, she would've become a godsend to the reporters, so they'd take as many pictures as they could, and people all over the world would be able to see what kind of eyesore and monstrosity their dear Potter had married. The pig couldn't even keep the house tidy, having her magic! Draco clenched the cleaning cloth tighter in his hand and started to rub the window glass even more angrily, for some reason seething with fury and wanting the entire building to collapse right now.

Two dark-amber eyes were watching him carefully. Semiramis smiled wryly. Humans were incredibly entertaining creatures.

~*O*~

The next morning when Draco entered the kitchen to start making his usual work, such as washing the dishes, left from the previous evening supper and the current morning breakfast and to tidy up, he saw that all of it had already been done by Potter, who was sitting at the table and sipping the freshly brewed tea. Draco's meal was on the table, as always.

"Morning Draco," Harry greeted. Draco replied with a nod and sat down to have his breakfast. This morning felt unusual for him. He wondered why Potter had done all the work himself, knowing that Draco _**needed**_ a work to do. He decided that he was just going to have to do something different. But he wasn't asking.

"Is that okay if I take you to muggle London today?" Harry finally said when Draco had finished eating.

"As you wish," the blond shrugged.

"There's a flat to hide two important witnesses, the elderly couple, but I was told it's not suitable for living yet, so I decided to take a day and take a look at it," Harry explained, washing the dishes left after Draco's breakfast before Draco himself would've decided to do it.

"Don't you have people who normally do such kind of job?" the blond asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

"We do, but in some cases only a very few people should know about the existence of a safe place for a certain person or people."

"Should I feel privileged then? Or you're intending to obliviate me afterwards?" Draco half-joked coldly.

"No, I certainly wouldn't do that," Harry smiled. "Anyway, I decided that preparing the flat was something more appealing than doing my paperwork all day. I'd like to go right now, if you're ready."

"Floo?"

"No, that flat isn't connected to the Floo Network, and for the sake of security purposes it is decided that we only use muggle transport to get there or out of there. Most wizards and witches don't even consider trying to check such things, whereas apparition and other wizarding ways of travelling are usually first things people try to trace."

"Right... Let's go then," Draco shrugged unenthusiastically.

They actually managed to leave only more than half an hour later, after Harry had dealt with Albus' tantrum, which had ended with angry tears and snot bubbles, because Daddy absolutely refused to understand that sweets were much better than any cereal. Al often showed himself as a very nice, clever and understanding boy for his age, but, like any other child, he sometimes became whiney and demanding. Harry was used to it, so he knew what to do, even though it took time. Draco had decided to stay away, not to hear the imp's whining and protests. He was relieved when they had finally left the annoying child behind.

~*O*~

They went by taxi and Harry regretted it very soon. Draco, absolutely unaccustomed to any muggle transport, started to show the symptoms of motion sickness. Harry opened the window for him, so he could have some cool air.

"This horrible smell..." Draco complained quietly. Sounds and smells of the muggle world sickened him immensely.

"Petrol and strawberry air freshener..." Harry sighed. He asked the driver to stop the car. They already weren't far away from their destination and could get there on foot.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked as they were walking unhurriedly down the almost deserted street in some dormitory district. Draco looked much better now. Harry was glad that they both had put on the warm thick wool coats not to get cold. It was the middle of October, after all.

"If you're going to make me return to Grimmauld Place the same way, I swear to Merlin, I won't hold back and just throw up all over you, not only because it stinks in there, but also because of that atrocious music that drivers listen."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry smiled apologetically. "We'll just take a walk on the way back and then apparate, once far enough," he suggested. There were no objections.

The flat was horrendous! It was dirty, there were places with cracked or even crumbled plaster, the ceilings were covered with stains as a result of the leaks, but the worst thing was the swarm of cockroaches in the kitchen and bathroom, and probably even in the other rooms. Harry's face contorted with disgust. From his bag he retrieved the book, full of household spells and decided to start with destroying the insects before Draco saw them. He didn't know how the blond would react, but somehow he could easily imagine Draco's outburst or probably even a terror. When he found the incantation he was looking for, he started to read it, making the movements of his wand, just as it was described in the book. He hoped it was going to work fast enough, as Draco was still in one of the rooms near the entrance door, most likely, cursing Harry for bringing him here and for wanting him to clean the flat in such terrible condition by hand (though cleaning wasn't the main issue here; the flat surely needed a renovation). Harry had other plans for Draco, which had nothing to do with cleaning, but, since he hadn't shared them with the blond yet, he assumed that Draco was more than just confused.

Harry left the kitchen to continue in the bathroom, just in case. The insects looked obviously startled. Later he noticed that they started to calm down and move to the exit, one after another. He stopped reading the incantation, deciding that it was enough (or that it hadn't worked the way it had had to), and emerged from the bathroom curiously to see what was going on. But first he saw Draco, pressing himself hard against the wall. There was a pure terror on his pale face, as he was looking down on the floor. Harry looked down, too, and nearly chocked on his laugher. The annoying insects weren't supposed to just disappear or die. The spell was chasing them away from the house, so now he was witnessing them unhurriedly crawling away in a column, as if they were soldiers, heading to the entrance door (Harry suddenly felt pity for the neighbours, because where else would the creatures go?). Draco seemed appalled and afraid to move as if they would attack him if he did. They were crawling not far away from his feet, so he slowly came up on the balls of his feet to move away even further from them.

Harry had had no idea that it was possible for one flat to contain this many insects, and not only cockroaches, but other, much smaller, insects as well, and there even were several spiders that were bringing up the rear of the hideous parade (Ron would have had a fit). There were, at least, three different species of spiders, but there weren't many of them. They had crawled out of the sinks and dark corners of the rooms.

Finally, all the creatures disappeared through the small crack between the entrance door and the door post.

"Draco, you may move now. They're gone," Harry assured sympathetically.

"B-burn this house down..." Draco mumbled.

"Bloody hell, I didn't know the flat was _**this**_ bad," the dark-haired man sighed, scratching the back of his head in confusion. He decided to do some cleaning with magic. But even when he'd had no idea about the state of the flat, he hadn't intended to leave this work to Draco, anyway. Harry sighed again and looked around perplexedly. "I'll clean up everything here just a bit, and you may just sit down.., if you'll find something decent to sit on. I have to find a phone to hire muggle workers, because cleaning is definitely not enough."

"Am I here to sit?" Draco frowned a little. Of course, taking part in cleaning this disgusting place wasn't appealing at all, but he needed to work.

"Yes. Well... To be honest, I've brought you here with me, because, as you know, Ginny's having a party with her friends today, so I told her that I needed you here with me. I know you're not quite fond of them. And I know they don't treat you well." '_And this is something I do not approve, and never will,' _headdedmentally.

"How very noble of you. Well, of course, Saint Potter, as saint as always," Draco scowled, but his face relaxed slowly, because Harry remained impassive and even smiled slightly, looking right into the other young man's eyes in front of him. It wasn't hard to make an eye contact when they were just looking right in front of themselves, since both young men were about the same height.

But Harry noticed that these beautiful grey eyes started to turn suspicious, so he looked away quickly.

"Anyway, consider it your day off. I have a right to give you one, especially after such a long time of having you doing so much work about the house," he said. At first Draco wanted to protest and say that Potter was being delusional, but suddenly he felt the curse letting go, as if he'd already finished his work for today.

"Fine, but I'm not precisely eager to spend the day off here."

"What would you rather do?"

"I'd read a book, alone, in the room that I occupy in your house, with the certain warm cat, sleeping on my lap."

"How about going for a walk... or going shopping with me? Would you like to help me to select the furniture for this wretched flat? All the furniture here needs to be replaced, especially given that the elderly couple that's going to spend about a year here, well... they're not used to muggle things," Harry said and patiently waited for an answer. At first Draco wanted to snap and say that if it was his day off, he was going to spend it the way _**he**_ wanted, so he didn't need Potter's suggestions. But something stopped him and he thought that he probably wouldn't mind to go shopping, but only if it wasn't going to take too much time.

"Fine," he finally agreed. Potter seemed to look relieved at the answer and gave Draco a small smile.

"All right then. But first I must find a phone and a number of some renovation company. I'll ring them, they'll send people here, I'll explain everything, give them keys and we're free to go. Deal?" Harry asked, fussing a little. Draco only shrugged indifferently.

Fortunately, it hadn't taken much time, because the quickness could be achieved with some extra money. After all, it was the Ministry to pay for it, so Harry didn't even bother. While Harry explained the workers what he wanted them to do with the flat, Draco was sitting on the windowsill that had been covered with some old newspaper (it was the only more or less clean place to sit).

Some time later they finally left the dirty flat. Harry smiled to himself guiltily as he heard the man complaining to his neighbour about the sudden invasion of cockroaches. The second man nervously replied that he had the same problem in his flat and he had already called the insect extermination service. _'Oh, God... What have I done?'_ Harry sighed. But it was already done. After all, he couldn't explain these muggles that it was his fault and what exactly he'd done. Draco gave him a curious look, but said nothing.

Soon they were shopping in wizarding London. People every now and then turned their faces to Harry, awed, and whispered something to each other. Harry wasn't really paying attention, because he was used to it. Draco sometimes felt quite uncomfortable, but there was something else. He couldn't explain why he felt a bit... proud, walking together with Potter. Just a little bit proud, even if, of course, he knew he had nothing to be proud of, especially being... just a slave or a charity case, depending how one looked at it. Harry, meanwhile, was a little lost in his own thoughts. Every time he saw even a hint of the fair face and hair out of the corner of his eye, his heart fluttered and his lips threatened to stretch into a tender smile. It didn't feel right, because for him it was another step to losing control over himself, another step closer to the abyss. It felt like self-deception to walk together with Draco like this, imagining some things involuntarily. And it felt wonderful...

Eventually, Harry had purchased almost all the furniture he'd intended to purchase, except a bed. He couldn't decide which size to choose; king size or queen size, considering that the flat wasn't very spacious. Soon he made the decision to buy a bigger one, anyway.

Even if he was the one to pay for all of it, not the Ministry, he would've bought something really decent all the same. That elderly couple were such nice people. They both were almost eighty years old, far from young even for the wizarding world, but they often smiled at each other, supported each other even in hard times they were now having. They looked into each other's eyes as if reading each other's minds, they held hands. Something that Harry would never have... He was never that lucky.

Draco was carefully watching Potter, who was looking like he was deep in his thoughts; he looked... sad. For some reason Draco felt uneasy.

"That one looks good," he said, pointing at the one of the king size beds. He just had to say something, especially given that he'd been so quiet before and had hardly said anything during the time they (or rather just Harry) had been shopping.

His voice immediately returned Harry to reality (to Draco).

"Yeah... You're right," he nodded and gave a small, sad smile. The shopkeeper approached and asked if Harry had made his decision or needed some help. Harry showed which one he wanted to buy, and when he heard the price, he couldn't help but think: _'It costs like Draco and a half,'_ He nearly slapped himself, wondering if he was going to compare everything with the price he'd paid for Draco. For the last fifteen minutes his mood had been ruined by all of his own tormenting thoughts and this one was the last straw. Thankfully, the shopping was over.

Without saying a word they were walking down the street. Draco wasn't asking or even thinking where Potter was going to go now, just walking alongside him as before. Harry stopped near some decent looking café.

"Draco, are you hungry?" he asked.

"No," the blond shook his head.

"But you haven't eaten all day."

"Look, if you're hungry, just enter and eat something. Don't ask me," the blond frowned a little.

"Never mind..." Harry shook his head. "Let's go home. I'll cook something for dinner. Do you mind walking for ten more minutes, though?"

"No, I don't."

Silence suddenly became very uncomfortable as they kept walking.

"You hate everything muggle, don't you?" Harry asked. It had just come to him. Just something to talk about.

"Why?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Just curious."

"Not everything. Muggles have some outstanding classical music; great orchestral music, choirs. But nothing really better than the same things in the wizarding world."

"Interesting... Is that all?"

"Some old weapons, medieval armour. We had several suits of armour in the Manor. Long time ago they belonged to some muggle knights. They even had shields with family crests. Once they were purchased by my ancestors, they were enchanted to attack uninvited guests, in case anyone managed to break through the wards. But I've never seen them attacking anyone. They looked a bit like those that defend Hogwarts."

"Sounds wicked," Harry smiled. "Anything else?"

"Old architecture, some places of interest, and some works of art are, too, worthy of wizard's and muggle's attention alike. Today's muggle world has almost nothing that could interest me. I feel alien there. Looks like the technological progress has been destroying the muggle culture and impoverishing their minds.

"Well... Many muggle inventions are meant to spare people's time and efforts. Most people call it progress," Harry explained.

"Yes, but some other people call it degradation of a culture."

"But muggles need something to make their everyday life easier. We have magic for it and they have to invent their own ways."

"What are you trying to prove? I don't hate muggles in general, if this is what you're getting at, I never have really hated them. Hatred and a total unwillingness to have anything to do with someone or something are two different things, Potter. I just don't care about them and I do believe that their ways should stay in their world and never meddle in ours. Different cultures always influent each other in some way, it's inevitable, but everything should have its limits. The more accurate those limits are, the better."

"I wasn't getting at anything; I just want to know what you really think."

"Want to know how 'intolerant' I am to try to 'fix' me and change my beliefs?"

"No," Harry almost exclaimed and shook his head sincerely, as if the very idea of changing Draco was unthinkable. Their eyes met, but they kept walking. "Just want to know _**you**_." He tried his best to make it sound matter-of-factly, but his eyes retreated. Draco didn't seem to pay attention, looking in front of himself now.

"You already know more than enough, Master," he said dryly, and Harry knew that the metaphorical door that had just been slightly ajar, so teasingly and temptingly ajar, was shut and locked again in front of him.

Once they were home, Harry brought the dinner into Draco's room, making sure the blond wouldn't meet any Ginny's guests.

Later Harry and Ginny were arguing, because Ginny wanted Draco to wash all the dishes and clean up after her small party and Harry was absolutely against it, and insisted that she had to leave Draco alone. Harry knew that the argument was mostly his fault, because he'd been a bit too harsh from the start.

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_**A/N: The statue "Nisus and Euryalus" by Jean-Baptiste Roman, that Semiramis mentions in this chapter, is situated in Louvre. If you haven't seen it before, find some pictures of it, you won't regret it! It's epic, beautifully desperate and very, very sexy!**_

_**P.S. In case anything happens to this story here, please remember that you can also find it on adultfanfiction . net. I have the same pen name there.**_

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	10. Graceful Collapse

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story. **

_**Thank you my dear reviewers: **_Lientjuhh (Thanks a lot :)! ), Sun (Okay, let's analyse it :). First of all, Harry and Ginny don't love each other, but still Harry respects her; she's his wife and a mother of his children. Do you expect him to just kick her out this easily? I don't do weak Harrys, I do responsible Harrys who hold on to their families. Things aren't that easy even if he's terribly attracted to Draco, which, by the way, doesn't make him a perfect husband :P.. I don't make excuses for Ginny, but she lives with a person whom she hates and who hates her back, and that's quite unsettling, I imagine. But I'm all Draco's and he's one of two main characters, I show his POV and his opinion, and you see her through his eyes. But, once again, no excuses, just opinion :). Thanks for reviewing!), Viva Drarry (Thank you!), yamimoukin (Thanks a lot! I agree! I like to take it easy and slowly especially when initial conditions of their relationship are this bad. I hope you're going to keep enjoying it!), Simply. Scarfy (Oh, thanks, dear! Believe me, I'm killing myself too, but I just know they are not ready to be brought together yet. Some things have to be taken care of first. Thank you very much for reviewing!), Koiame (Thanks a lot! Enjoy :) ), Poisoned Flowers (Thank you!), MDarKspIrIt (Thanks so much!), harry and draco belong to each other (So good to know it affected you this way. Thanks!), SPF (No, I'm not a professional writer, it's just a hobby. Thanks ;) ), Aquarinus (Oh, my, thank you!), Prince Of Pariahs (Thanks! Well, I just needed a stress-relieving character in this story and decided that a magical creature if a better choice than a human. Glad you like her!)

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_**10. Graceful Collapse**_

~*O*~

In the morning Ginny was still angry, and Draco, who had already been in the kitchen when she entered and started cooking, felt it in the air around her even before she opened her mouth. Most of the time he preferred to ignore her completely, but today she irritated him so much that his frustration led him to accidentally pushing the pile of the just washed plates with his elbow. They fell on the floor with quite a harsh noise. Two were broken into pieces, another one had broken in half and other three seemed absolutely undamaged. The curse that had already been displeased with his irritation didn't hesitate to deliver the punishment. He squatted down and reached his hand up to grab and hold on to the edge of the sink. The pain lasted for a couple of minutes, nearly strangling him. He did his best not to scream, but couldn't hold back occasional gasps and his body was still shaking even when the pain was gone. He embraced his own body with both arms.

"Is that all?" Potter's bitch asked when he'd got up with some effort.

"What?" he hissed.

"Is that all punishment you get for breaking my dishes?"

"I have some news for you; you're a witch. If you have some proper skills, you can repair it. It's hardly a significant accident," he replied sarcastically, still recovering.

"Nothing's significant for you, except yourself. I remember it every time I look at Bill's face," Ginny spat.

"You were just waiting for an opportunity to tell me this, weren't you?" Draco, too, raised his voice, but then lowered it and just sneered at the bitch that couldn't just leave him alone. "I'm not even going to pretend that I care. Well, sorry. Not all of us are brave and noble enough to sacrifice our own family for the sake of someone's face. All of you are such high-flown, infantile idealists, so naive that it makes me want to vomit. And you always know what is right and what is wrong, don't you?" he almost growled. It wasn't like he didn't feel guilty about the past and all the mistakes he'd made; he did feel guilty. But he'd been just a desperate boy, intimidated and scared out of his mind for his family. He wasn't going to let anyone force him to feel any more guilt and make him torment himself. He had already shed all the amount of tears he'd had for the damage that had been done to school and pupils because of what he'd been coerced to do. He was ashamed of his own mistakes, but he would never be ashamed for wanting to protect his family, despite the fact that he couldn't take a life, which had been required of him. But he'd carried out the important part of the order, nevertheless, which had made the monster spare the lives of Malfoys, even if he hadn't been pleased with them, anyway.

"Godric... Why am I even listening to you? Legally you're not even a person; you're a property," Ginny sneered. He was about to sneer back, but, gave her a small, scornful smile, instead.

"You look pretty angry today, Mistress? Sleepless night? Or you've just got up on the wrong side of the bed?" he mocked. "Or, perhaps, your dear husband called you by the wrong name during some _**very**_ inappropriate moment? Since you're so angry personally at me, I'll take the liberty of assuming that it was_** my**_ name. Why else..." Ginny interrupted him, slapping his face hard. The sound of it was nearly deafening. Al who had been silently watching the scene for almost a minute, unnoticed, shrieked and hid behind the back of the chair.

"Ginny! What the hell are you doing?" Harry exclaimed, after witnessing the slap, as he'd just entered.

"This shit dares to mock me!" she growled. Draco pressed his hand against the left side of his face, as it had started burning with pain. The slap had been hard enough for Ginny herself to start rubbing her stinging palm. She wasn't sorry for slapping Malfoy due to his sharp tongue and arrogance, she was sorry for giving in to provocation and especially sorry for letting her little son see it.

"I see you're still in a mood today. Well, there's no need to vent it on the other people," Harry said coldly. Al pressed himself against his father's leg and Harry patted him on the head soothingly.

"You're taking his side? I'm your wife!" Ginny fired up.

"It doesn't give you any right to be violent, especially in front of Al."

"So now I'm a bad influence on our son?"

"Stop it. I'm not going to argue with you."

"It's all right, Master," Draco told him bitterly, still looking at the redhead disdainfully and still pressing his hand against the cheek. "It must be a Gryffindors' thing; nothing that I haven't seen before, though. It's so typical. When you, people, are frustrated and incapable to think up some efficient verbal comeback, you often use your fists to cover up your stupidity and the lack of eloquence. Even your mudblood friend did it when we were in school, and your brothers-in-law, too. I'm used to it, so don't bother. It only proves how much some people suffer from the lack of a brain."

"Shut up, already," Ginny hissed.

"Draco, would you please leave us? I'll repair the plates," Harry said. Draco left quickly and silently.

They argued the entire morning. Thankfully, they'd made sure that their children couldn't hear them. Ginny repeatedly accused Harry of cherishing the evil, ungrateful snake on his bosom. In the end, he just left to work, tired of his own fruitless attempts to achieve peace and quiet. Ginny and Draco were totally incompatible, simply unable to coexist and both too stubborn to even try.

Draco went back to the kitchen to return to his chores. He decided not to pay attention to the redhead cunt. Fortunately, she was in the living room, playing with her children and reading them fairy tales. But in two hours or so she found him tidying up one of the rooms.

"I have to leave for a couple of hours. You're looking after the children," she said, or rather stated the fact. Draco chuckled darkly.

"You're a terrible mother if you're fine with leaving your spawn with me."

"What harm could you possibly do? Your controlling curse would quickly remind you of your place. Even if you're unbelievably useless, I'm sure you'll manage to look after two kids. They are in the nursery. Go now, it's an order, not a request." With this she left. Draco sighed, cursing Potter's bitch in his thoughts. He washed his hands and quickly headed to the nursery, as the curse was urging him. The younger spawn was sitting in his cot, holding the thin posts with his little hands and looking at Draco curiously. His elder brother was drawing, sitting at the wooden table, low enough to make a child comfortable. Albus was unusually quiet and James was babbling something hardly intelligible. Draco sat down at the table and relaxed. He was just resting for some time, but the feeling that he was being watched made him look back into the green, almond shaped eyes.

"What?" he asked coldly.

"Mummy huwted you," Al said quietly.

"And?"

"Still huwt?" the boy almost cooed, sounding sympathetically. Draco rolled his eyes. This child was just as meddlesome as his father. He knew, however, that his cheek was still pink and it still stung a little.

"I'm sure I'll survive somehow," he replied.

"Good."

Fortunately, both children weren't making much trouble. Albus shyly asked Draco to draw something and the blond started drawing the castle on the mountain top. There were crayons on the table, but Draco preferred the quill and ink of different colours in small inkpots; the wooden box on the table was full of them. The quill looked a bit plucked, and yet still perfectly usable. He was drawing absentmindedly; however, the occupation was relaxing, all the same, letting his mind find some sort of comfort. His drawing skills were average, he definitely wasn't an artist, but the picture was turning out quite well. Albus was watching carefully, sometimes asking some simple questions about the picture.

"Anybody live in it?"

"No, it's abandoned."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"No ghosts?"

"I'm sure there are some. But we can't see them from here."

"There must be ghosts... Scawy ghosts."

Draco almost finished drawing when James was suddenly tired of being ignored and started crying. He threw the pillow out of his cot in a sign of protest. Draco sighed and took the toddler in his arms. Fortunately, the boy calmed down pretty soon, once he'd got the attention. Holding him securely on his lap with one arm, Draco continued drawing. Albus was still watching, while his brother was babbling contentedly, held by Draco. When the picture was finished, he gave it to Albus.

"Fank you," Al exclaimed cheerfully. "Teach me?"

"No," Draco shook his head.

"I don't like you," Albus said, but it sounded quite half-heartedly, even though his cheerfulness was gone.

"Ditto," Draco shrugged indifferently without looking at the boy.

"Ditto?"

"It means I don't like you, either," the blond explained. Al pouted and started drawing his own picture. Draco, meanwhile, started another one, having nothing else to do.

Using the dark-green, silver and black ink he was drawing the Malfoy family crest: the black and green shield with the silver letter "M" on it. Six sharp heads of the spears that emerged from behind the shield were pointed in six directions. Two dragon-like creatures were the supporters of the shield on both sides of it. Several serpents, looking slightly alerted, were on top of the shield. The motto _'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper' _was written on the silver ribbon on the lower part of the shield. Albus was watching him drawing again, his own drawing was forgotten. The green eyes were full of curiosity.

"What's vis?" he finally asked, pointing at the motto.

''_Purity Always Conquers_," Draco translated.

"What it mean?"

"Nothing," Draco sighed bitterly. In the current situation it was nothing, indeed. To the most people who weren't purebloods such mottoes sounded very threatening, thanks to the Dark Lord and the involvement of some purebloods in the genocide of muggle-borns and those who sided with them. But for him it was _**his**_ family crest and he wasn't going to be ashamed of it or anything about his kin. "I'll leave this picture here," he said, smirking to himself. He wanted to vex Potter's wife with it, imagining her shocked and furious face when she'd find this in the nursery. Thanks to it, she would probably refrain from using him as a fucking nursemaid next time.

"Okay," Al nodded naively.

Soon James became sleepy and whiny, so Draco was rocking him in his arms. He strictly forbade himself to draw any parallels, feel any similarities, having the warm, small body in his arms. He forbade himself... But he was all right, because he never forgot whose child it was. At least, both children looked more like Potter than his wife. Despite James' brown eyes, Draco could see a lot of Potter in him. And there definitely was no need to look at Albus Severus twice to see how much he resembled his father. Thank gods for not letting more bloody freckled redheads into this world!

When Ginny returned she said she was going to have guests, so she was busy with cooking and wanted him to keep looking after the children. And certainly it was an order. Draco angrily gritted his teeth, but said nothing. At least, the bloody curse considered this stupid babysitting as work.

Late in the evening when, theoretically, it was the time to put the children to bed, someone finally entered the nursery to dismiss Draco. The curse had already been satisfied for some time, as he had fulfilled his quota of work, but Draco couldn't leave without permission, since he'd been _**ordered**_ to look after the brats. He'd fed them several times, the younger one had napped a couple of times (Draco had been much more eager to rock him to sleep rather than entertain the bored toddler), so everything was quite fine, except for Draco's reluctance to be a bloody nursemaid, even if he was well versed in how to take care of children. Potter's wife knew it; she would've hardly trusted him with her sons, otherwise. But no matter what she'd said earlier, she was obviously a bit nervous that Malfoy was looking after her children, so she'd come to the nursery several times to make sure they were fine and fawned over them in her motherly way. _'As if I'm going to find a way to murder your precious spawn,'_ Draco thought with irritation.

It was Potter who had entered the room this time. Strangely, Draco knew it was him even before he turned his face.

"Hi, Draco. Sorry, I've just got home," he apologised quietly, seeing that Jamie looked sleepy in the blonde's arms.

"Hi, Daddy," Albus smiled, sitting on the carpet with the book full of pictures in front of him.

"Hello, Al," Harry smiled back, but then his eyes returned to Draco. He carefully took James in his own arms and kissed his head. "I didn't know Ginny has left you with them. Are you all right?" he sighed, seeing that Draco wasn't really happy about all of it. Before the blond had a chance to answer something caustic (and he was surely in the mood to do it), the door opened and the young woman with brown, curly hair entered.

"Or, Harry, here you are," she chirped. Draco knew she was one of the bitch's stupid friends from Holyhead Harpies.

"Hi, Rosemary," Harry greeted and the greeting was a bit restrained.

"I haven't seen you for some time, just wanted to say 'hi'. Why don't you join us downstairs?" she asked cheerfully. Draco frowned. He somehow hated the looks the bint was giving Potter. She was flirting! Flirting with her 'friend's' husband in that 'friend's' own house! _'Oh, fucking brilliant.' _Not only Potter's wife's 'friends' were giggling idiots, but they were also whores. How sad, Potter's stupid wife didn't see it. Oh, she would've gone mad! Draco would've enjoyed the scene so much! Potter himself looked oblivious.

"Thanks, but I'm a bit tired after work and I want to spend some time with the kids. Sorry," Harry replied, smiling down at Jamie, who was rubbing his eyes. Draco noticed that the bitch looked disappointed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Draco didn't let her.

"Am I free to go, Master?" he asked. His voice was calm, but Harry could clearly feel how angry the blond was. He would have to talk to Ginny, so she wouldn't order Draco to look after the children again (Harry himself wouldn't have even considered the possibility of asking Draco to do anything like this). The blond was definitely unhappy about it, but he had no reason to be happy, anyway, considering how bad this day had started. Draco was in a terrible mood. Now it was even more obvious to Harry; much more obvious than when he'd entered the room. Harry had no idea that there was something else that had infuriated the blond like this and that it had nothing to do with children.

"Of course, Draco. Thank you," Harry replied. The blond moved to the exit. The slut was still standing at the door. Gods, she even looked like a whore with all the make-up she had on her face. Draco gave her such a murderous look that she stepped back in the corridor. It allowed Draco to close the door behind, leaving the confused fool outside. He headed to his room, but heard her walking behind him tentatively, as she was, most likely, returning to the fucking party. At least, there was a tiny piece of brain in her head that restrained her from entering the nursery again. Draco's anger was seething inside him like a lethal poison in a cauldron. Anger and... jealousy. The anger, in fact, made him feel dizzy. Well, of course, everyone wanted The Golden Man, The Chosen One, The Saviour (there were plenty of tittles and Draco couldn't remember all of them)! And sometimes it seemed he was everyone's! Some people looked at Potter, like he was the best person in the world, the strongest one, the most powerful, and, certainly, they wanted a scrap of his fame. On the way to his room he caught sight of Potter's wife in the living room with her friends. It made him even angrier. Draco slammed the door, as he'd entered his room. He sat down in the armchair and sighed. What was so special about her? What Potter saw in her? She was so mediocre, so unremarkable. The only thing in her that could attract attention was her red hair. So what? Red was the colour that attracted attention. What else? Those ginger clusters that contrasted with her skin and were still quite dark, because the summer hadn't been too long ago. Some people would call it adorable, but the word 'adorable' wasn't in Draco's vocabulary when it was about the bitch. Gods, she was annoying even when her mouth was shut! Well, all right, some people could tell that he wasn't impartial, blame him for being prejudiced from the beginning, but, seriously, one could think that 'The Great Harry Potter' could find someone more noteworthy. _'Someone like you?'_ his inner voice teased. Oh, no. The time when he'd had something towards Potter, was long gone (wasn't it?). There always was one certain thing that consisted of a great many obstacles that made the very idea of having _**something**_ with Potter ridiculous and absolutely impossible; it was simply a waste of time. That thing was called _**reality**_. Thank Merlin no one had ever known about his feelings. Draco wouldn't have survived the shame. He was already a laughing stock because of his 'feats' during the war and because of his current status. He didn't want to add anything else to the list, especially something so personal. Making him admit having any feelings towards Potter was something that simply couldn't be achieved without the assistance of alcohol, Veritaserum and Cruciatus; all at once.

~*O*~

Harry was so saddened, so severely burnt by Draco's coldness; yes, burnt was the right word. After Draco had made the compliment about Harry's attire, and later, after the day they'd spent in muggle London, and in wizarding London, shopping for the furniture and even talking a little, Harry had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the blond had started to think a little better of him, so they could start talking, more or less, normally; but Draco was like a frozen wasteland, where the desolating cold was, little by little, destroying all possible life that was still there. Harry didn't even know how to speak to him, so it wouldn't end up with restrained insults or glares that made Harry both angry and uncomfortable, and made him give up all useless attempts to get along with the blond. It seemed that cocky, arrogant, full of dignity Draco, that had acted so superior, was long gone. Now there was someone darker, someone broken, someone who had lost something comparable to life, no less.

Harry felt guilty for wanting him, because Draco was sad and downcast most of the time, and, despite that, sometimes the only thing Harry could think of was touching Draco, pressing himself against him or going even farther than that. A simple touch (that he certainly couldn't have) was as desirable as water in a desert. His libido had obviously gone mad. He could leave the fifteen years old boys in the dust with all their hormones. Was it normal for the one who was twenty two? His prick was wild and rebellious, and his traitorous eyes kept looking where they didn't belong. At the same time, his inner eyes, his memories, kept returning him to the particular moment when he'd seen Draco wearing nothing but the bandage on his forearm. Wanking had become a normal practice (almost a tradition) before going to bed and if the well-known myth was true, he would've already got blind. He tried to excuse himself, telling himself that he was just a human and the desires of his flesh were just a normal part of human love. Love... Oh, how hard it had been for him to pronounce this word even in his head, because it meant that he acknowledged the feeling, making himself easier to hurt.

There was nothing he could do about it and it eclipsed the physical need. He was full of indescribable tenderness; full of sweet and painful longing that he felt in his heart, not just in his groin. He had probably fallen in love long ago, and all these years it had been hidden deep inside his heart, because he had forced himself to hide it that deep, so it wouldn't hurt. But now it did. Draco would never love him... Especially now that Harry owned him as a slave. No matter how noble his intentions had been when he'd bought the blond, it was enough to destroy any possibilities to become closer to Draco (if he'd had any, to begin with), wasn't it? If Hermione found a way to put an end to slavery, Harry knew Draco would never want to see him again. He was almost afraid that she'd find a way soon, and Draco would be free. Harry hated himself for such thoughts. He hated himself for his own sighs of relief every time he asked Hermione if she was any closer to finding a decision and she answered 'no'.

Oh, God, he was going crazy... Something selfish or probably just very _**human**_ in him screamed that it wasn't fair. Hadn't he suffered enough? Why had he fallen in love with the one who hated him and would never love him back? Well... Apparently, for some people there wasn't any 'happily ever after'... There were things impossible even for The Boy Who Lived Twice; such as personal happiness. Draco Malfoy would never love Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy had hated Harry Potter from the start. No... Not from the start; since the moment Harry had rejected his friendship. What if Harry had shaken that pale, refined hand? However, there was nothing more useless than thinking about what ifs.

He tried to feel guilty towards Ginny, she was his wife, after all, but he couldn't. He tried to be mad at her, knowing for a fact that she was seeing someone else, but he couldn't. He didn't feel any connection to the person that slept next to him every night, even if there'd been about a year since they'd started sleeping with a rather big space between them. He wanted her to be happy, but he couldn't give it to her. He couldn't blame her for trying to find it somewhere else. Perhaps, she would be luckier than him...

Was it all another step to the abyss, or he was already falling down just to reach the inevitable? As far as he'd heard, in both worlds some writers asserted that unrequited love was the only true love; it was the concept of their works. Could it really be true? He remembered Snape's pensive, so it seemed that the ideas of those writers weren't really devoid of sense. Snape had loved Harry's mother and had carried that unshared love with him throughout his life.

_'__**Always...**__'_

Unshared... _'Always unshared...'_ What would have Snape said about Harry panting after his godson? The man would've died once again; this time from laughter. At least, he would've held Harry up to ridicule. Severus Snape and Lily Evans had never meant to be, and now Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were just another impossible love story. It remained to be seen if Harry's love was just as strong and undying. But there was no doubt about its one-sidedness. It was the fact that, nevertheless, made him feel a wounded and panicked bird in his chest every time. But he was the father of two sons, he had no right to fall apart even because of what felt like love of his life.

~*O*~

Meanwhile, time went by. Harry knew that Draco suffered inside and it bothered him more than his own hopeless and pointless love. He saw the evidence almost every morning when Draco entered the kitchen with nothing but emptiness in his slightly reddened eyes with puffy eyelids. Draco's depression was quiet and frightening. Harry knew that the blond had cut himself again, because the bandages that Harry had left for him in the bathroom were gone. He brought him several more rolls, as well as the other things, necessary for taking care of wounds.

Even caustic remarks had become impossibly rare. The curse never punished Draco these days, because he was quiet and obedient.

~*O*~

Today Draco lit even more candles in his room, mainly near his son's photograph. It was the sixth of November and his child's fourth birthday. Being away from him felt especially acute today. Soon, in almost four months, it would be one year since they'd been separated...

Where was he? Was he taken care of? Were people that meant to take care of Scorpius celebrating his boy's birthday? He mentally wished his son many presents, a cake and love of the people that surrounded him. Maybe he really had new parents now? His Scorpius was a nice and beautiful boy, so Draco wouldn't be surprised if his son was already adopted. But it was his child! Draco was his father! They'd had no right to take him away! Draco took several deep breaths. No, he wasn't going to be angry and bitter today. It was his boy's birthday...

He imagined Scorpius with two faceless, but undoubtedly kind and probably rich people that couldn't have children of their own, so they'd adopted _**his**_ boy to love and raise him like their own. He imagined them sitting at the table. The cake was on the table, beautiful and delicious with four candles. He imagined his boy smiling and probably making his wish before blowing out the candles and having a piece of said cake. He was sure that in spite of his age Scorpius was capable of making a conscious wish, especially if anyone reminded him that he could make one on his birthday. He wondered what that wish was. And he wondered if his boy remembered his real father sometimes...

He tried his best to be calm and happy during this day, but far too soon felt that he couldn't take it any longer, retreated to his room, abandoning his chores, and broke down... It happened several times during the day. Harry pretended that he wasn't noticing anything, but his heart was aching for his beloved. He felt so useless, knowing that he couldn't offer any comfort. Draco didn't cry in front of him, but his bloodshot eyes and the slightly inflamed looking skin around them were telling their own tale, as well as the visible tension in his shoulders, as if it took him all his strength to hold on in front of others. Because of this tension it looked like he was using even the muscle strength to keep himself together; the despair was _**this**_ much.

This day was unbearably hard for Draco. It was more than just a tribulation; he felt the insanity lurking around, sneaking closer and closer to him. He just couldn't cope. When it was finally over he just went to sleep and readily embraced the darkness where no conscious thoughts existed.

Harry expected cutting, but he checked Draco's bathroom the next morning after the sleepless night and found that all the bandages were still there, the potion, meant for cleaning wounds, as well as the antiseptic ointment, seemed untouched since the last time Draco had cut himself. Harry knew it wasn't a reason to be relieved. Most likely, Draco was just afraid to defile his boy's birthday in any possible way, so he'd refrained from shedding blood.

~*O*~

Harry had never stopped searching for Scorpius, but now he contacted people, involved in this case, even more frequently, seriously concerned for Draco and feeling helpless and panicked.

"Mister Potter... Harry," his colleague sighed. "We've been trying to find the boy for more than seven months now and things haven't budged an inch. We've even failed to find him in foreign orphanages and families. We just can't break the impasse without any new information. Don't you think it's time to calm down a little? I still hold the opinion that someone has failed to keep an eye on the boy and they've swept it under the rug," the man shook his dark-blond head, touched with grey. Eleos Benedict March was a good detective and throughout his career he'd found a lot of missing people; alive or dead, but he'd found most of them. A lot of grateful people, that had reunited with their nearest and dearest, prayed gods for him. Perhaps, he hadn't been given his first name for nothing and he'd been fated to help people, like his Greek namesake, the spirit of mercy and compassion. But now Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Auror March, I can see your point and I trust your experience, but I'm asking you not to give up searching. I don't want to believe that the boy is dead, but... if he is, I'd like to have some proof," he replied, pacing the man's office that had such a great amount of books that Hermione would've felt like a child in a sweet shop. The neat piles of books even occupied the windowsills of both windows and the floor near them, because the book cases were already packed with books, scrolls and files.

"I'm not giving it up, Harry, don't get me wrong. You're restless and I just don't want to keep your hopes up when, in fact, there's not much hope. But I'm doing my job and I'm going to keep on searching, at any rate," the older auror promised.

Harry knew he'd been pestering March a lot lately and his rational side was very aware that it wouldn't speed up anything at all. The man was right about Harry's restlessness. He forced himself to stop fussing, knowing that there was absolutely no reason for him to think that the professional wasn't doing his best.

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, guys, the resent fuss about M and MA rated stories has made me cut out some certain scenes, but I've left some notes to my readers where it was necessary. I'd love to be rebellious about the entire thing, but I don't want to lose all your wonderful reviews and let down people who have added my stories to their favourites and story alerts (There is a surprisingly big number of those who have done it and I'm very grateful). If this story will be deleted even after that then I just don't know, it just won't be fair...**_

_**In case that happens, you can find me on adultfanfiction. net (pen name EvilConcubine, as always), but, until then, feel free to read it here, too. I don't write for little children, in any case, and I'm not going to hold back in the following chapters, but you're going to be informed when something will be cut out. I'll make sure you won't miss anything, my dears, unless you're too young for anything like that (you know it's not my idea, don't you?). **_

_**Now I have to take care of my other story, too.**_

_**But, hey, that doesn't mean you have to stop reviewing ;). So, please, review! I promise the next chapter is going to be long and very eventful! The fact that I don't like stories that are overstuffed with events and are developing too quickly for my taste doesn't mean I'm going to drag the things out for eternity in my own story. The last two chapters weren't very eventful, but they were necessary to show the slow progress (I can't imagine all of it happening too quickly). Consider them as the calm before the storm.**_

_**And, once again, review, please! **_


	11. Restarting Your Heart

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story. **

**Thank you, my dear reviewers:** A Call to Arms (Thanks for information), tingting (Thank you ;) ), Prince Of Pariahs (Here it is! Thanks!), Sun (Thanks for commenting! Well, I've already explained their situation :) ), Lientjuhh (Thank you very much ;) ), blackcurrent (Thanks a lot! I hope you're going to like the new chapter), IS it Here (Thank you! Please, enjoy!), Viva Drarry (You'll get many answers from the new chapter ;). Thank you!), Shadow Entity (Thanks so much! Here's the new update ;) ), Poisoned Flowers (You'll get the answer soon. Thanks for reviewing!), Maureen (Thank you very much! It's very nice of you :) ), Koiame (Thank you! I'm glad I'm still here :) ), Aquarinus (Thanks!), Paper Angels (Yes, I feel bad for Scorpius, too. Thank you!)

* * *

_**11. Restarting Your Heart**_

~*O*~

"It's Christmas and you look like it's someone's funeral," Hermione smiled softly, entering the small room that she usually used for reading, sitting comfortably on the sofa or in the armchair. The room was connected with her study, and sometimes, when she had too much work to do, she even slept on this sofa, feeling too exhausted to drag herself upstairs to the bedroom, especially when Ron was away. Harry smiled back weakly.

"Just needed a few minutes of silence," he replied. He'd spent some time, celebrating with friends and family in the Burrow and then most of them had moved to Hermione's and Ron's house. It was evening, so Al and James had been put to sleep in one of the rooms together with Teddy and Bill's and Fleur's Victoire.

"Mind if I join you?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, not," Harry smiled again. She sat down in the armchair and visibly relaxed.

"How are you?" she asked several long moments later. She wasn't sure he wanted to unburden his heart right now, but decided to try to encourage him. After all, they were alone here, everyone was busy with celebration, and, frankly, they hadn't had a chance to really talk to each other lately.

"Moderately lousy."

"I see... Draco," she nodded.

"Merlin, why am I always so obvious?" he frowned, but softened rather quickly.

"You're not. I just know that he means a lot to you and you're thinking about him, knowing that he's alone in Grimmauld Place right now."

"And you say I'm not obvious?" Harry chuckled bitterly.

"I'm not blind, Harry. I know that Ginny and you are unhappy together, and I see how you look at Draco. You've been looking at him like this since our sixth year. You look at him like the sun would just go out without him. At first I thought it was gone, but as soon as I asked you to buy him... Even Ginny had suspected it back in our sixth year; it was one of the reasons she wasn't happy about the idea of him living with you."

"Oh, really? It's not her place to judge. Do you know she has a lover?"

"I... I've suspected it." Hermione bit her lip slightly.

"The thing is... I don't even care if she likes or even loves someone else. We argue all the time, but I wish her well. I've not been the best husband; quite the opposite, actually. Gods, I'm in love with the other person and I have probably been in love with him for years; so she has every right to find someone else. I hope he's good to her..." Harry said sincerely.

"What are you going to do?"

"I wish I knew," he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Sometimes I think... If my annoying conscience was less persistent, I wouldn't stand it... I wouldn't be able to resist temptation and just... just used my power to make him love me. No, of course, it's impossible to obtain any real feelings that way. But I'd made him _**let**_ me love him. Fuck, if only he could hear me right now... I have too much power over him. It's inadmissible."

"Harry, we both know you'd never abuse this power."

"I'm so fucked. He hates me more than anything in this world and probably dreams about me dying in agony," he sighed again. But, as soon as he'd said that, he knew immediately that it wasn't true. It had probably been close to truth in the beginning, but now... Draco was hardly even acting hostile anymore, even if provoked. No, it wasn't hatred. It was worse... Draco didn't care any longer. He was absolutely unresponsive. Even Ginny was surprised and confused as he'd stopped arguing with her in any possible way. It had become even worse since Scorpius' birthday more than a month and a half ago. "It feels like Draco himself is dying slowly. I don't know what to do. I can't imagine him surviving this for fourteen more years. I can't imagine myself surviving this, either. I don't know how to help him. He refuses to take anything from me. He throws back in my face everything I'm trying to give him. Well... figuratively. Merlin, today at the door of my bedroom I found the Christmas gift I'd left for him. He hadn't even opened it. The same thing happens to all my attempts to talk to him. He doesn't even sneer at me or glare at me any longer. Sometimes I'm not sure that Draco's still in his body. I thought it was bad when I knew he was crying and cutting himself, but now that he doesn't do even those anymore..." Harry stopped talking and shook his head. He felt tongue-tied, as if there weren't enough words to let him express what he felt, but there was understanding in Hermione's eyes.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she whispered sympathetically. "I didn't think it would be _**this**_ hard for you. Look... If it's really this unbearable, and I can see that it is, I'll take him. Now that I don't have Babette... I have a right to have another slave."

"It's not going to help him. He won't feel any better with you, I'm sure of it," Harry refused. He knew she meant well and he knew she would treat Draco right, but her offer had made him feel possessive. However, if there really was a chance that living somewhere else could help his suffering beloved out of his severe depression, Harry would let him go; with a heavy heart, but he would. After all, the law allowed it, allowed selling or just giving a slave to someone else with the help of a ritual that transferred a slave into the ownership of another master. If the Ministry allowed it officially (why wouldn't it?), an Enchanter performed the required ritual and that easy a slave became a property of someone else. Harry shivered, still feeling too uneasy about such things. And thank Merlin that he was feeling this way, because he didn't want to start considering such things normal, even though it was a part of his life now. But he knew that a measure like that wouldn't make any real difference for Draco and altogether could even make things worse, because Draco would have to get used to the new environment.

"But it would probably make _**you**_ feel better. You worry all the time, you're exhausted."

"And if he lived somewhere else, you think I'd stop worrying? Out of sight, out of mind? No, it's not that case."

"I know. I just thought you might need a break."

"I do need a break, but not like this."

"Well," Hermione sighed. "All you can really do is give him something to live for."

"If only it was that simple. Still no news about Scorpius. I'm starting to think that we'll never find him or learn what's really happened to him."

"Start considering getting professional help for Draco. He'll be angry at you, but you might have no choice if it won't get any better."

~*O*~

Draco was sitting on the windowsill in the library, looking down at the snow-covered street, his eyes fixed on one spot absently. There was almost nobody in the streets, because most people were celebrating Christmas with their families or friends. Draco was absolutely fine with being alone here, in the house of his maternal ancestors. Semiramis, who was sitting on the windowsill next to him, pouted, seeing that his mind was somewhere else. To remind him that he wasn't alone here and that she didn't like to be ignored, she put her heavy paw on his shin and protracted her sharp claws, digging them into his flesh hard enough to pierce the fabric of his trousers and hurt him, but not hard enough to draw blood. Draco flinched, turned to her and frowned.

"Are you going to drink or not?" she demanded. He remembered about the glass of absinthe in his hand. "Too potent for you?" she smirked. "It's my favourite. Well, come on, drink!"

"Merlin..." he sighed and took another sip of the green spirit, scrunching his face a little. Semiramis had got this bottle as a present from Potter along with the pair of sapphire and gold earrings that she currently wore. Potter's wife had given the sphinx the ornate casket, made from a fine, dark wood. Semiramis had also got the picture of herself, drawn by Al, but even if she'd forced a poor excuse of a smile not to hurt the feelings of the human cub, she'd quickly hidden the 'ugly daub' somewhere between the books on one of the bookshelves in her room, hoping not to see it ever again.

She emitted a purr of contentment after another sip.

"It's good. The wizarding brand. Though, it doesn't taste really different from muggle brands. Wizards just use different methods of growing wormwood for it and add an extra couple of herbs," she explained.

"I'm not this enthusiastic about alcohol, sorry," Draco replied apathetically.

"You don't understand, human. It's not just some alcohol. It was traditionally a drink of artists, actors and poets. People even dedicated their works to this exquisite drink. Have you ever seen Maignan's painting, called 'Green Muse' or Oliva's 'The Absinth Drinker'? Oh, they are both muggle, so they are not animated, obviously, but they look just amazing. And there are a lot more than those two."

"There's no need to eulogise it to me. Looks like you're always waiting for holidays only to get drunk on this green booze. And if you want to drink it any other day, you just find some holiday in the retrospect of ancient history, using the memory of your ancestors; any holiday that doesn't exist any longer," he murmured, unable to share her rapture.

"I'm not getting drunk, foolish human, I just drink to relax. Not really often, by the way; and you make it sound like I'm some kind of a sot. I know when to stop," she assured with a scowl.

"I just don't understand why you always use holidays as an excuse. You can drink any time; every day if you wish," Draco said, slightly amused.

"But I have a liver, too, you know," she shrugged. "And don't look at me like I'm some kind of abnormality. You have no idea what my ancestors were doing during the festivals, dedicated to Dionysus."

"I'm afraid to even imagine, so don't let me see the images of it with my inner eye. I'm sure no upholstered furniture was ever left unharmed after their debauches," Draco sighed, pressing his hand against the chest dramatically. Semiramis chuckled.

"Let's drink. Merry Christmas, human. Oh... You're a wizarding traditionalist, so merry Winter Solstice, then," she corrected herself.

"And to you," he replied quietly.

Semiramis prepared more absinth, 'properly', as she asserted, placing the sugar cube on top of the special silver spoon that, in turn, was placed on top of the glass, then she filled the glass with absinthe, soaking the cube with it at the same time. She set the sugar ablaze with the spell and let it fall into the glass in several moments. The fire was extinguished with the other spell. And after stirring the drink with the spoon it was prepared. All of it had been done with magic. Semiramis was good in levitation, because it obviously was impossible to do all these things with paws. The sphinx used magic quite often. With the help of her non-verbal and certainly wandless magic she preened herself: brushed her hair, spelled some make up on her face, put on bodices or brassieres to support her human-like breasts (at least, the upper pair of them was human-like), wrapped one of her many silk attires around her lion-like body and, of course, put on jewellery she liked so much. Using magic, she helped herself to eat and drink and turned pages when she read. In other words, she used it in her everyday life, but her magic seemed quite limited; on the other hand, there probably was no particular reason for her to show all her magical potential, so Draco wasn't sure what she was capable of.

He drank a bit more of her 'green happiness', but soon enough excused himself, thanked her and went to his room. He felt dizzy and he actually didn't feel any happier or less distressed. His thoughts were full of the time he'd spent with his family one year ago when they'd celebrated the holiday together. It had been just a family dinner, only more lavish and a bit more joyful than any usual dinner. Of course, there'd been presents, not too expensive or remarkable (it hadn't been quite easy to get anything really special in their situation), but it really had felt enough. And Scorpius had looked happy... It had been so good when they were together, all four of them, even if they'd been in hiding. Draco's mother had organised all holidays with the help of their elf, the only one they'd had whilst hiding in France, and Narcissa had always succeeded in making her dearest men happier, especially her grandson, who had been very easy to please, due to his age. Her family had always been her soft spot and she'd loved all of them selflessly, no matter how strict and sometimes even disdainful she'd been with other people. Draco had probably inherited it from her. He looked at the picture of his parents, the only one he had, and sighed. Holidays were unbearable now and felt like they were sucking the very soul out of him.

~*O*~

It was the end of very uneventful January when Harry received the firecall he'd been waiting for so long; the firecall from Eleos Benedict March.

The next day just refused to come sooner and Harry couldn't sleep at all, highly anxious. And, surprisingly, he felt too much of a coward right now to tell Draco the important news he had for him. In the morning, when Draco entered the kitchen and saw that it was cleaned, and all the dishes, left from the previous day, had been washed, he decided that Potter was taking him somewhere, just like a few months ago when he'd taken Draco to the dirty flat in muggle London. Potter himself was sitting at the table, having his breakfast. Draco's was already prepared as well.

"Morning, Draco," Harry greeted.

"Good morning," Draco replied, unemotionally and quietly, which had been typical of him lately. He noticed that Potter looked a bit tense and was hardly looking at Draco at all. The blond didn't care, though. He ate his breakfast and only then Potter looked at him briefly.

"I want you to come with me," he said softly.

"Yes, Master."

They apparated to some muggle city. Draco hadn't noticed that Harry had used the portkey that looked like a coin with the stamped image of some famous auror of the past. Aurors used such portkeys to give them to their colleagues that didn't know exact locations of places where they required to get to. Those portkeys guaranteed the safe apparition to a certain place. This one Harry had received from Eleos March early in the morning.

Draco didn't know where exactly they were, but it was still England, he was sure of it. He was also sure that they weren't in London or any big city. Potter looked a bit nervous and Draco had no idea what was going on. It was quite cold and windy, the harsh snow was beating in their faces, but it didn't take them much time to get from the deserted, blind alley to the large, old, but decent, building near the old-looking church. From the brass signboard near the entrance door Draco learned that it was an orphanage.

Dozens of children's eyes were looking up at them curiously. Draco's somewhat angelic appearance made them interested at first, but the interest faded, once they noticed his cold and unforgiving eyes that resembled the endless winter. Most grown-ups that visited their orphanage were smiling and attentive, but this stranger was as cold as ice, absolutely inapproachable and bitter throughout. It was in him and around him, so no one risked infiltrating his personal space, no matter how good-looking the young man was. The other one with green eyes looked nice and kind, and some children were running around him, asking him to play with them. Some were quite straightforward and asked him if he wanted to adopt a girl or a boy. Harry smiled at the clingy children and told them that he was here with another purpose. Draco wasn't sure why they were here. He could only assume that Saint Potter was interested in charity and this was the reason for them to visit a place like this, though he couldn't comprehend why Potter needed _**him**_ here. He hoped he wouldn't be ordered to take care of these children in any way or to take part in anything equally stupid. At the same time, he thought about his son and hoped that, if he was still in some orphanage (which he couldn't help but doubt, because he was used to imagine his boy already adopted), he was in a better orphanage than this; it was a muggle place, and Draco felt ill at ease, even though he wasn't sure if wizarding orphanages were very different.

Potter entered one of the offices after knocking; he asked Draco to wait outside, but left the door open, nevertheless. There, in the office, was the woman, dressed in nun's clothes. It seemed all the staff here consisted of nuns. Potter approached the one that was sitting at the table in the office. Draco couldn't hear what they were talking about, but it seemed that Potter had been expected; it also seemed that he was posing as someone else. When Potter left the office (the fake smile that he'd been wearing for the woman disappeared), he nodded to Draco, which looked like a silent sign to follow him. And Draco followed.

They went to the second floor of the building that, not surprisingly, was full of children, though there was much less of them on the second floor and they seemed to be going downstairs to the others.

Potter entered one of the rooms in the middle of the corridor. It was children's bedroom, quite large, but it was currently empty of children, not including the small boy (or was it a girl, in the boy's sweater? It was hard to tell, seeing the child from behind and from this distance). The blond child was sitting alone on one of the farthest beds and looking in the direction of the window absently. There were a lot of completely identical beds along the walls on the left and on the right. The beds were divided from each other only by bedside tables. Just beds with no curtains around them, so the bedroom offered no privacy at all. Draco sighed internally. The walls were decorated with children's drawings, which Draco found ugly, not because sometimes it was hard to tell what exactly was drawn, but because some had been drawn with such terribly intense, bright colours that they could nearly hurt his eyes. He wondered if muggles considered such things normal. They probably did. If it was normal for them to wear ugly, shabby clothes that looked worn out even being absolutely new... At least, the bedroom seemed clean; all the beds were neatly made. But the interior interested Draco much less than their reason to be here. He couldn't explain what made him start to get nervous, but remained seemingly calm.

Harry stopped when they weren't far away from the silent child. Draco stopped next to Harry. For some reason, Potter seemed to refrain from moving too close to the boy (yes, it was, most likely, a boy).

"Hello," Harry greeted him. The child didn't answer, but turned his small, pale face to him, looked at him shyly and cast his glance down. It was enough for Draco to see the boy's face. His heart nearly stopped, he was starting to hyperventilate and was pretty sure he was going to faint. The boy... he'd noticed the blond hair when they'd just entered, but now Draco had also seen the grey eyes, absolutely identical to his own, the pale complexion and so very familiar features, though a bit older than he'd last seen them. Seeing that Draco was shocked, pale as a ghost and stunned, Harry couldn't help but grab his hand with his own and squeeze it supportively, really wishing he could transfer some strength to his beloved through this touch. Draco didn't seem to even notice it at first. Harry squeezed it again lightly. It slowly attracted Draco's attention and he looked at Harry with wide, unbelieving eyes. His master slowly let his hand go and nodded, confirming that Draco's eyes weren't failing him. But the blond still wasn't sure if all of it was true, if it wasn't a dream or an unforgivably cruel joke.

"My name is Harry. What's yours?" Harry asked gently, as his eyes had returned to the child. The little boy didn't answer again. He looked like he was sure he was in trouble. Harry was speaking softly to assure the child that he wouldn't hurt him, but still refrained from moving closer. "They call you Rudolf Sutton, right? But you know it's not your real name, don't you?"

Draco was still dizzy with shock, but, somewhat, capable of thinking, even if his mind was being burnt by hundreds of thoughts. How could that be? They'd changed his boy's name and placed him in a muggle orphanage! Now Draco saw that it wasn't quite the face he remembered. He remembered Scorpius' smiling and serene face, the way it looked on the picture on his bedside table. But now the boy looked intimidated and very unhappy. Draco's stomach churned and his heart sank. The boy's very presence indicated the hard times that he'd been through. He looked so insecure. _'Oh, no; oh, gods, no... Please, no. Not my boy... What have they done to my boy?' _Harry could see it, too; as well, as Draco's reaction. Something was definitely wrong with this child. The boy looked at Draco for a moment and turned away again. Draco was heartbroken - his baby didn't recognise him!

"Scorpius..." he whispered desperately, not daring to raise his voice and trying to collect himself as best as he could. The boy looked at him as if hardly understanding what was going on and why he was called 'Scorpius', though it obviously sounded familiar to him. Draco could hardly speak; he forced the words out of himself, knowing that if he tried to speak louder, he'd just wail. "Do you remember me? I'm Draco, your father..." He whimpered in the end, but continued: "...Remember the firebird we saw together? You wanted me to catch it for you... Do you remember your grandmother and grandfather? We lived together in a big house. You had a large room of your own, but you... You liked to sleep in mine. You liked it when your grandmother... was reading books to you and your grandfather was teaching you how to read them. Look at me... You're Scorpius Malfoy. You're... my son. Please, look at me..." he begged with breaking voice and finally fell on his knees, bursting into tears, which frightened Harry and he was about to approach the blond, but somehow felt that it would have been a wrong thing to do right now. Tears ran down Draco's face. Gods, it hurt so much, too much! He felt like his body was knotted, starting from his throat, and all the way down to his stomach. He was afraid to even come closer and touch the boy, as if it would make his baby disappear. Recognition and pain gradually appeared on the child's face.

"Papaaa!" he cried out painfully and ran right into his father's waiting arms. Both started to sob aloud, holding each other desperately. Scorpius' arms were tightly wrapped around Draco's neck, his wet face was pressed against father's upper chest, right under his throat. He was clinging onto Draco with his entire body, trying to hide himself in the father's arms and in his overcoat that was unbuttoned, so it had been easy for the child to get underneath it. Draco held Scorpius tight and wailed just as loud as him. Tears welled up in Harry's eyes at the sight. It was quite a painful reunion to witness. He took off his spectacles and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Only nearly half an hour later, both father and his son started to calm down, but were still breathing spasmodically, from time to time, and shaking slightly. However, they didn't move and kept holding each other tight, both too shocked and too scared to be separated. A couple of times some children peeped into the bedroom curiously, but Harry quietly asked them to leave; in the end, he closed the door again and placed a chair against it, propping the back of the chair under the door knob to make it impossible to open the door from the outside. After that he sat down on one of the beds, knowing that Draco and Scorpius needed some more time. _'Oh, Merlin, finally...'_ he sighed in relief.

They'd worked through so many versions, trying to find Scorpius. Of course, they'd checked all children in wizarding orphanages, all adopted children, taken from wizarding orphanages, even in the other countries. They had long since stopped caring about finding Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, knowing that the name could have been changed; they would've found him long ago otherwise. Harry had taken part in the search, too, brushing aside more and more of erroneous versions. And they hadn't known if narrowing their search by excluding uncorroborated versions they'd been nearing the truth and probably getting closer to the boy (alive or not, no one had known) or they'd been losing a hope of finding anything by running out of ideas after working through all of them. For months it had seemed that nothing had been moving forward, there'd been no new information at all, no traces in any of two worlds. Eleos March had briefly checked muggle orphanages long ago, but lately he and his two assistants had been checking muggle orphanages thoroughly. And, finally, they'd found him. Not only they'd found Scorpius, but they'd also found the one who was responsible for the boy's disappearance. Some woman from The Department of Childhood Protection had decided that, in order to 'protect the wizarding world from muggle hating prejudices in future', it had been absolutely justified to send the child and grandchild of the Death Eaters, not to mention Malfoy's offspring, to the muggle world, so, raised among muggles, he would become as tolerant as any 'normal' and 'acceptable' member of today's wizarding society. March had suspected that she'd been somehow involved, but there'd been absolutely no evidence before. Now they had enough to put the bitch in Azkaban. Harry hoped they would be able to put her and two other bastards, also involved in this terrible crime, in Azkaban for a very long time.

Apart for about one year... Draco knew he wouldn't let his little boy go this time. They would have to kill him right here to take his son out of his dead arms, because it was the only way for them to do it. He didn't care about anything anymore. Only his Scorpius mattered, and the entire world could just collapse right now around him and burn, but he wasn't going to let go. He didn't care if Potter had only brought him here just to let him visit his son, Draco wouldn't eat, sleep or move at all, but his boy was going to stay in his arms. If Potter ordered him to leave Scorpius alone (even though he'd never really ordered_** anything**_ before), Draco would endure any pain the curse inflicted for disobedience. Only the warmth of his son against his chest was important. Draco's soothing and gentle hand was caressing Scorpius' head and the back of his neck. It had always comforted the boy since he'd been a baby. It was working now, too, and Draco felt the small warm body relaxing against him, in spite of not letting him go. The feather light blond hair had become a tiny bit thicker, but hadn't changed otherwise.

Twenty more minutes had passed and Harry decided that it was time for them to go. He approached tentatively to tell it to Draco. Before starting to talk he tried to touch the blonde's shoulder, but gasped and jerked his hand away. The skin on his hand felt as if scalded with boiling water and looked almost like it. He bit his lip, not to cry out in pain, and cradled the reddening hand. Even if it was an accident, as Draco didn't even seem to notice the surge of his own magic that had gone furious and protective around him and his son, Harry knew that the curse punished Draco for hurting his master, making him feel the same pain, only tenfold. But the blond reacted only with shivering and biting his lip and then gasped, shutting his eyes tight. He didn't even know why he was being punished so harshly that the pain nearly blinded and deafened him, but, thankfully, he was too shaken up to perceive any pain properly. When it had let him go, he was breathing erratically for almost a minute. Scorpius shifted slightly, probably feeling that something was wrong, but it was the only reaction.

"Draco..." Harry said softly.

"No..." the blond shook his head fiercely, before Harry had even finished calling his name.

"We're here to..." Harry tried, but once again Draco interrupted him.

"No, please..." he whispered and the fear was clearly heard in his shaking voice. "I'll do anything. Anything... Please, don't make me..." _'Don't make me let go...'_ He had no dignity to preserve any longer, so he wasn't ashamed of begging. He pressed his son to himself even harder. Harry was so confused now and even slightly irritated. It was the first time Draco was asking him for something, begging actually, and Harry didn't like it at all.

"Do you think I've brought you here to tease or something?" Harry frowned. "To show you your son and separate you again? Maybe you should stop considering me such a monster? We're leaving together, including Scorpius," he assured, now softer. Draco didn't seem to believe him, so now Harry wasn't sure if bringing him here had been such a good idea. It would have been less traumatising for everyone if he'd just taken the boy from the orphanage and brought him home right into Draco's arms. He'd just assumed that it would have been less scary for the boy if he knew that his daddy was taking him with him, not some stranger. He heard a small whimper Scorpius emitted.

"Scorpius, you're going to leave this place with your Daddy, I promise. Do you want us to leave now?" he said gently. There was no reaction at all at first. But then he saw a tiny nod of the boy's head against Draco's chest. "Let's go then," the dark-haired man said. Draco looked at him uncertainly with his reddened eyes, as if trying to decide if Harry was telling the truth and he was actually allowed to have his son back. Harry sighed, but looked back at him softly. Finally, when it seemed that Draco had seen no lies on the other man's honest face, no catches or ruses, he got up with some effort, because his legs had fallen asleep under him, and picked Scorpius up; the boy once again clung onto his chest. Harry opened the door and they were met with several curious children. The girl in turquoise dress with sandy blond hair and olive green eyes approached them. She was about nine years old, probably ten.

"Why are you taking him, not me? He's bad and he's punished all the time," she frowned. Harry saw and Draco felt the way Scorpius was literally trying to bury himself into his father's chest, looking very scared, probably expecting to be abandoned. Draco paled again.

"What do you mean, punished? How and why?" Harry asked, switching over to his 'auror-mode'.

"Because he's going to hell," she answered as if stating something obvious (and for her it probably was).

"Why? How can you say such a thing?" Harry asked, trying to stay calm.

"He makes others hurt. It's winter and you didn't see what he's done. Last summer he made all flowers wither, even trees around our orphanage all dried up and died. He's strange. He's staring out the window all the time. When Stephen wanted to teach him a lesson and hit him, the very same evening he fell ill. And others who teased him, he made them ill, too," she explained. Harry closed his eyes._ 'The accidental magic...'_ he sighed to himself. Scorpius must have been so sad and hurt that his magic was doing things without any control, just like it often happened to some children with magical abilities. Those who had put the boy here must have found a way to prevent such surges of magic from being noticed by The Improper Use of Magic Office, which would've made it much easier for March, his assistants and Harry himself to find Scorpius. Surely, it would've been recorded, Scorpius would've most likely been transferred to the wizarding world and his true identity would've been discovered. What the girl had described was quite remarkable and there was no way the Ministry wouldn't have reacted to that, especially given that they could've decided that Scorpius' magic had been doing quite dangerous things.

"How did they punish him?" Harry asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

"Umm... I saw Sister Josephine told him to put his hands in front of him and hit them with her ruler several times. She did it again in autumn when all new flowers in her office died. They put him in the corner for the whole day sometimes. This is all I know," the girl shrugged.

"Where can I find this Sister Josephine?"

"In her classroom, of course. On the first floor. Second door on the right."

"Thanks. I think I need to talk to her," Harry frowned. Draco felt befogged, as if his own mind decided to protect itself from damage, caused by too much pain, and it let him feel numb. He followed Potter automatically.

Harry literally broke into the classroom.

"Sister Josephine?" he asked. Draco couldn't see her from the corridor. Potter closed the door, so Draco could hardly hear anything, either.

"You've tormented a child. How could you? He's just a little boy!" he heard Potter's indignation almost a minute later.

"You don't understand. He's not just a boy. There were signs that he..." the woman tried to defend herself.

"He what? Possessed by Devil or something?" Potter nearly shouted. Draco couldn't hear the rest of their rather short conversation, but he heard the scraps of it and it seemed that Potter promised that Sister Josephine that she was going to answer for what she had done. He looked upset when he went out of the office.

"Sorry..." he apologised quietly. "We're leaving; right now."

Once again Draco followed. Scorpius probably had his own warm clothes, but Draco couldn't think about it right now. Motivated purely by the instinct to protect and warm, known since the dawn of the world, he wrapped his child into his overcoat, pressing him against the warm chest even harder. It was just like more than a year ago when they'd escaped to the forest somewhere in Russia. Draco would've had a feeling of déjà vu right now if he wasn't this numb.

"Scorpius, don't be afraid. Close your eyes and hold on to your Daddy," Harry said gently when they'd got to the blind alley to disapparate.

Very soon they were finally home. For some reason, Potter headed to Draco's room and Draco followed as before.

"You need another room, a bigger one, with windows," Harry stated. The blond wanted to protest, but Harry didn't let him. "No. Go have some tea together. You're not working today. I'm going to take care of your new room and bring all your things there. It'll be much faster and easier to do with magic," he said, looking thoughtful and slightly fussy. His words affected the curse, like it had already happened before, and it let go.

When he'd finished furnishing the large room on the third floor and magically transferred everything from Draco's old room, he looked around, satisfied with his work. He thought it looked fine. Antique furniture, Persian carpets; just the way Draco liked it, as far as Harry knew. There was also the bed he'd found in one of the storerooms, the bed was meant for a child. The room had the door to the bathroom, which would be more comfortable than the one that Draco had used before, because he wouldn't have to go up to the first floor any longer. It had taken Harry two hours or so. He couldn't wait to see Draco and make sure he and Scorpius were all right.

When he entered the kitchen he saw that Scorpius was sleeping, still held against Draco's chest. His head was resting on Draco's shoulder and his small hand held onto Draco's dark-grey turtleneck sweater, as if afraid to let go even in his sleep. It seemed Draco had followed Harry's advice and poured some tea to both himself and his son, but both cups were still full and, most likely, forgotten; the tea had got cold. Draco looked lost. Harry sat down at the table across from him and poured himself his own cup of tea.

"I hope you're going to like the room," he finally said; quietly, not to wake up the child. He was slightly nervous, but he knew that some things had to be voiced. "Look... I want to make it clear. I know it's impossible for me to be in your good books, I just want to do everything possible to make you live again, to have something to hold on to. He's your son, you even were the one who gave him birth..." he stopped talking, finally seeing Draco looking back with surprised, widened eyes. "Yes, I found out about it whilst searching for him," the dark-haired man admitted. "Sorry about that... And I'm very sorry it took so long to find him. Draco, I promise I will never let anyone take him away from you again. Officially, I'm his guardian, but I don't make any claims, and this is not a way to blackmail you, or whatever you might think of it. It was impossible to formalise your guardianship over Scorpius, so I... He's free and he's yours no matter what," Harry promised. Draco didn't know what to say, but the other young man shook his head, letting him know that there was no need to say anything at all.

He showed Draco to his new room.

"Is this acceptable?" he asked. Draco looked at him openly and gave him a sincere nod. It was a bit too much for one day, Harry knew it. "If you need anything for you or Scorpius, just let me know," he said and left.

Scorpius stirred and opened his eyes. Sleepily, but disbelievingly he looked up at his father and relaxed, seeing that he was indeed in his father's arms. Draco was still speechless, but it didn't look like Scorpius even needed him to speak right now. He filled the bathtub with warm water, comfortable enough for Scorpius. Undressing him, Draco was suddenly very afraid to find bruises or any scars on the small body. Fortunately, he found none and put his boy into warm water. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the floor, putting his chin on the edge of the bathtub. Sitting in the foamy water, his son was hardly looking back at him; the child was withdrawn and quiet. At the same time, he leaned into every touch when Draco was washing him. When he brought him back to the room, wrapped up in the big, warm towel, he saw the small white pyjama set on his bed. It was obviously Potter who had brought it here. It looked new. He put it on Scorpius and changed into his own.

They spent this day in Draco's bed. Neither of them was sleeping; they just needed to stay close to each other. Harry had visited them twice to bring them some food, but they'd left most of it untouched. It felt awkward to disturb them, but Harry couldn't allow them not to eat.

When the night came, Scorpius fell asleep, but Draco still couldn't. Sometimes he was starting to fall asleep, but woke up with a start every time the sleep prevented him from feeling the presence of his son next to him.

The next day Draco's numbness was gone and he was cursing gods and people for letting all of it happen to his baby. He'd never really been into any religion at all, but he'd prayed the gods to protect his child; however, they had allowed to break him and to make the once happy little boy change so dramatically. _'I asked for some justice for the little child. He's so young, he doesn't need much; just someone to take care of him. I asked every night for him to be all right. I didn't ask much. Why on earth would I have even fucking imagined that some higher powers would deign to interfere and help? You obviously hate me. You let some bastards hurt my boy, so fuck you! All of you!'_ He cursed all known gods and promised himself that he would never ask them for anything again, because they didn't give a fuck. They all were considered dead from this moment on, each one of them, and all the religions, too.

He cursed all the people that had let all of it happen, and wished them some incurable, horrifying diseases and sufferings to their children, because those people had made _**his**_ child suffer. The pure, insane hatred was nearly consuming him entirely, he could feel it. If not for the closeness of his baby, he knew he would have exploded.

Sometimes the entire house, and everything in it, was trembling slightly, and Harry knew that Draco had to be given time to calm down, or else there was going to be a disaster. He was a wizard, no matter what, even if he'd been deprived of his right to use magic. And since he hadn't been using it for nearly a year, it was going berserk now, feeding from his pain and fury.

~*O*~

Scorpius looked subdued most of the time; when he moved, he was very quiet, when he spoke, which wasn't often, words were only spoken into his father's ear, so no one else could hear. Harry knew the boy wasn't okay, but it was hardly surprising after everything he'd endured, after even his name had been taken from him along with the people he'd loved and only people he'd known. It had become just a little better in several days.

Harry secretly enjoyed looking at them together. Scorpius was a copy of his father, only a little one. However, it wasn't hard to notice the signs of mistreatment and sadness on both their beautiful, nearly flawless faces. But having each other seemed to be all that both of them really needed. It was easy to see uneasiness on their faces when they were just in different rooms of the house, but it didn't happen often, because no matter what Draco did, his son was following him like a little appendage. Harry found it fascinating, as fascinating as watching the way Draco's eyes changed every time he looked at his son. They were really close, as if an invisible cord connected them to each other. Harry was a tiny bit jealous, because, as much as he loved Al and Jamie and would sacrifice everything for them, they weren't as close as Draco and Scorpius. He decided that it had something to do with the fact that Draco was the one who'd carried and given birth to his son. Notwithstanding his gender, Draco was technically... a mother. Scorpius looked at Draco as if he was his god. It was such a beautiful relationship to watch.

Al was very curious about the new child in their house. He quickly realised that it was the boy 'taken by bad people', the boy from the picture. But Scorpius was too shy to make friends, to Al's confusion. Harry, seeing his fruitless efforts, told him to be patient and give Scorpius some time to get used to the place and the people.

And still Albus was confused and a little disappointed that real Scorpius was nothing like the imaginary one. No one knew it, but despite his promise not to go into Draco's room ever again, Al had been there several times, assured that Draco was too busy with his chores. He hadn't touched the framed picture again (keeping, at least, a part of his promise), but he'd been talking to the boy on that picture, showed him his new toys and had even taken the imaginary promise not to tell anyone that Albus had been there, in Draco's room. This real blond boy was very different and not friendly at all. It didn't matter that Scorpius was older now, it was still possible to recognise the boy from the picture.

After another week of 'being patient' Albus approached the slightly smaller boy again. Scorpius stiffened a little, still feeling uneasy about everyone, who came too close to him, except for his father, even if it was another child. The dark-haired boy gave him the big, white toy owl.

"For you," he said quietly. The blond boy took the toy tentatively. In the orphanage all toys belonged to everyone and to no one, and he wondered if he was allowed to keep this one. He liked it. He didn't ask anything, though. It was a wizarding toy; its big eyes blinked constantly and turned to any person in the room, reacting to any movements. It had feathers that looked almost real.

"Fank you," Scorpius said very quietly.

"She's Hedwig. It's her name. Daddy had weal owl Hedwig and she saved him," Albus said proudly. Scorpius was a little boy, but he wasn't this naive, so he couldn't figure out how a bird could save someone. Of course, in some fairy-tales there were animals that saved people... He wasn't sure.

"How?" Scorpius mouthed, almost inaudible, as always, and never looking back at the other boy.

"Umm..." Al was a bit lost for several moments. "I don't know..." he admitted. "I ask Daddy," he promised. Scorpius didn't pay attention anyway; he turned his face nervously to make sure his Papa was still close. And he was. The boy could see him being busy about the kitchen.

At first Draco had some small urge to tell his son to never take anything from 'these people', but he couldn't let the (dying down?) animosity between him and Potter affect his boy in any way. His son needed things, needed toys, and Draco couldn't just deprive him of it, since he couldn't afford anything at all. He hated the idea of Scorpius growing up, using hand-me-downs, but he had no choice; it was better to let him have anyone else's things than no things at all. At the same time, most things Potter gave them seemed absolutely new. Fully accepting Potter as his benefactor, Draco would make things better for Scorpius; and it was more important than any pride. He still wasn't quite ready for it, but decided to give himself some time. In any case, he felt unspeakably grateful for what Potter had done for him. He knew he would never be able to repay the debt. It seemed that accepting and embracing it was all he could really do. _'I just want to do everything possible to make you live again,'_ he remembered Potter's words that had really affected him and made his heart beat faster. Potter was his benefactor, a good one, a selfless one, but Draco still felt something stubborn and restless inside.

~*O*~

In a few more weeks Scorpius felt a little better around Harry and Albus, and even around Ginny, because she always stayed away from him and paid him no attention at all; Scorpius was calm in her presence, as long as she kept staying away and ignoring him.

Once he saw Harry going to work, wearing his auror robes, and at first Harry was afraid that his clothes would remind the boy about those who had taken him away from his father. But, thankfully, Scorpius didn't pay attention to it. All other people, however, scared him very much. Harry and his family once had Arthur and Molly visiting them. When Molly entered the kitchen to take something, she saw Scorpius, who, as usual, was with Draco, who was currently washing the dishes. Scorpius was sitting on the chair at the table when Molly entered. And since she was good with children, she tried to talk to him.

"Oh, what a beautiful boy we have here," she cooed, coming closer to him with the intention to pat his blond head. The very next second Scorpius was hiding behind his father's legs, making it obvious that there was no _'__**we**__'_ and only his Papa had him; and no one else was trusted. And, of course, no one was welcome to reach out their hands to him, especially given that he couldn't be sure if they weren't going to try to take him away from his Papa even if for some time. Draco wiped his hand with a towel and reached down to stroke his boy's hair soothingly. Mrs Weasley stopped persisting, as the boy had refused to even stick his nose out from behind his father, even when she'd offered him to take some biscuits and sweets. Draco silently kept washing the dishes without looking at the woman, too, as if she wasn't even there. Even when Arthur and Molly had left, Scorpius kept clinging to his Papa till the rest of the day; just in case.

Scorpius also wasn't interested in any other children, except Albus. Teddy, who, as usual, visited Grimmauld Place once or twice a week, wasn't successful in making friends with this new boy. He'd been told that Scorpius was his relative, who was less than one year younger than himself, but the blond boy never joined them when Teddy and Al played together. Only once Scorpius looked at him quite curiously when Teddy made his own hair blond and his eyes grey, as he knew, despite his very young age, that such things entertained most people. He couldn't pronounce the word 'metamorphmagus' yet, but he knew what it meant and what being one made him capable of. But still it hadn't impressed the younger boy enough to make him more communicative.

~*O*~

Most mornings Scorpius woke up scared that the reunion with his Papa had never happened, that it had been just a dream, and he was still in the orphanage. Several times he even started weeping pitifully, being still too sleepy to understand where he really was. But every time it happened and he felt so hurt, scared and alone, he very soon was starting to feel the soothing warmth, as he was carefully picked up from his bed and pressed against his Papa's chest, and a warm, gentle hand was rubbing his back. And then he was waking up completely, no longer crying, and lifting his wet face to see Papa's sad smile. Scorpius loved his Papa's beautiful face. Already calm, the boy was pressing his own face against father's neck or shoulder again, emitting a sigh of relief. He was safe and loved.

This scene always left Draco heartbroken.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked!**

**Once again, you can find this story on adultfanfiction. net. I'm also going to post it on LJ. If only I had some more time to do it quickly *_*.**

**PLEASE, REVIEW!**


	12. Right Behind You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story. **

**Review replies to all my reviewers:** Lientjuhh (Thanks so much :) ), Annabeth Volturi (Thank you for reviewing! :) ), domsijohn (Thanks for your comment!), Viva Drarry (Thank you! Enjoy!), Prince Of Pariahs (Hehe, thanks!), blackcurrent (I'm not sure Harry would be good in politics, but I'm sure he'd do his best. Thanks a lot :) ! ), Simply. Scarfy (Thank you very much, dear :) ! ), dragonflybeach (Thank you! It's good to know. I'm not a fan of those things, either, so I'm glad you haven't found them in my story :) ), makoslits (Thanks so much and please enjoy the new chapter :) ), Koiame (Yes, I'm still here, thankfully; I'm not sure, but it's probably because I've edited my stories just in case. Thank you! :) ), h8dworld (Thanks a lot! You're very nice :). Well, of course, it's an angst story, but everything has its limits, so I decided that Scorpius had to be found. But, I admit, when this story was only in my head, I thought about the possibility of Scorpius being found in Hogwarts Express by Albus once the boys turned eleven. Well, something like this was on my mind), Maureen (Of course, you'll see a lot of Scorpius and Albus in the new chapter! :) Thank you!), Aquarinus (I'm so glad! Thank you!) **And now my guests (in order of apperarance :P )** : Guest 1 (Here it is! Thank you :) ), Guest 2 (Thanks, enjoy!), Guest 3 (aka P.T.D.) (Thank you so much!)

How sad that people that aren't logged in or those who have no account don't have any names any longer. But I'll still try to reply to each one of your reviews. It'll make it easier if you leave a sign under your comments :).

_**Here's the long chapter as a 'thank you' for your patience. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_**12. Right Behind You**_

~*O*~

Draco wouldn't even bother to count how many times he'd already looked at Potter, trying to summon up all his eloquence and some courage to express his gratitude, but he found himself lacking both every time he thought he had an appropriate moment.

Sometimes Harry was noticing that the pair of grey eyes was watching him carefully and he felt slightly nervous, wondering if he should be happy about it or feel uneasy. These days they'd never succeeded to make any decent conversation, even if both of them tried to. Either it just felt very awkward, or something happened to distract them from it. They once nearly managed to start a normal talk after Harry had asked Draco if he wanted to go to the park together, to take a walk with the children. Draco answered that it would be nice, though he sounded a bit uncertain. And then, after several moments of silence (the bloody awkward silence, by the way), Harry asked how Draco had been, sincerely looking right into his eyes that suddenly looked back. The blond seemed quite eager to answer. He seemed to be in the right mood for it. It could've been some step forward for them, Harry just felt it and his heart stuttered in anticipation, but the moment Draco started talking, Scorpius entered the kitchen and embraced his legs, murmuring his sleepy greetings. The moment was gone, but Harry couldn't be angry at the child.

"Hi, Scorp!" he smiled and winked at the boy, who smiled very shyly, but also very genuinely, in return.

"Good morning, Sir," the boy replied. Harry thought that, although Scorpius' 'R's weren't perfect yet, they were better than Al's, and he decided that he should spend more time teaching his son, instead of just spoiling him or playing and drawing with him all the time.

"You may call me Harry, you know," he smiled again.

"Papa said call you Sir or umm... Mister Potter," the boy replied, wringing his little hands slightly.

"I see," Harry sighed. _'Oh, Draco...'_ he thought sadly. Did that mean that Draco didn't want Scorpius to become overly familiar with Harry? "Well, I hope, one day you'll be okay with calling me by my first name and so will your Papa," he said. His eyes met Draco's again and he saw something unusual and special in their grey depths; some softness. He'd seen it before, but it had never been directed at him. Once again his heart stuttered.

~*O*~

Scorpius kept spending most of his time beside his Papa, at arm's length quite often, and pressed himself against him every time he felt insecure in anyone else's presence. When Draco was busy about the kitchen, his little boy liked to sit on the floor near his legs on the thick, but small blanket, playing with toys he'd been given or, even more often, reading some children's book aloud, so his Papa could hear him and correct him if he read something wrong. Only then the very shy and quiet boy could really be heard. He liked reading, even though he wasn't perfect at it (he was only four years old, after all), but he was making a progress and Albus gave him his books eagerly, even without being asked to. Some nights Scorpius still kept climbing into his Papa's bed to find more comfort. Two warm arms wrapped around him sleepily almost every time and he felt safe and happy with his loving parent. Draco knew that his son's fears weren't quite normal, it looked like phobia, but he had to give it more time, so Scorpius would make sure that no one was going to take him away from his Papa again. But there were also some improvements; for example, the boy had become more talkative, started to smile back at Draco. He seemed happier. Until one day...

Draco had just prepared tea and Harry was sitting at the table in the kitchen, sipping the fragrant Earl Grey after coming back from work (Harry loved drinking tea best when it was prepared by Draco and no one else, as if the blond had some special secret to make it taste better). Draco was still there, because the curse still wasn't letting him go, though he knew he was close to finishing his work for today. He was washing the dishes when Scorpius ran into the kitchen with loud, frightened wails. Tears were streaming down his face and he looked absolutely terrified. Draco kneeled in front of him and held him tight.

"What is it, darling? Are you hurt?" he asked with concern, frantically checking his boy for injuries. Scorpius tried to tell him something, but nothing coherent came out as he kept crying, holding onto his Papa's white shirt. Harry kneeled beside them, trying to help to soothe the child, but it made no difference.

"Papa! Don't give me back!" Scorpius finally managed to force the words out of himself, shaking violently.

"Never," Draco replied quickly and it sounded like a vow. "I'd never give you back, darling. Tell me what's wrong. Tell papa what happened," he murmured comfortingly, looking so distressed that it pained Harry to look at both of them.

"Papa, I be good! Good... Don't give me back! I can't... wifout you..." the child kept sobbing. Albus looked confused, standing at the threshold. Harry turned to him.

"Al, what happened?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," the dark-haired child replied, looking upset.

"Do you know where Scorpius was before coming here?"

"In living woom. Near window," Albus replied. Draco picked up his son and went to the living room to see what could have possibly caused his son such a distress. Harry followed him together with Al, whose hand was in his. There were two windows in the room, but everything became clear when they approached one of them. Several potted plants were on the windowsill. And they were all dry and dead beyond the revival.

"I ruined it... I bad! Devil going take me to hell!" Scorpius sobbed loudly. Harry's heart clenched. It reminded him of his own childhood so much. Dursleys had called him a freak for being a wizard. It wasn't based on any religious motives though, but they'd made him feel like he was nothing but dirt under their feet because of his gift. And Scorpius had been intimidated so terribly for the things he absolutely couldn't control. Of course, he hadn't meant to do such things on purpose. There was a good chance he wouldn't have even been able to realise that it was _**he**_ who had been doing all those things or even notice them at all, but, certainly, 'good people' had noticed it and informed him that he was nothing but evil that didn't deserve to live. How stressed and lonely the boy had been in the orphanage that his magic had started to show itself in such a way?

"No one's going to take you," Draco promised him quietly and calmly, despite the tight feeling in his chest. "Those who told you that were just stupid. They know nothing."

"Scorpius, you know you're a little wizard, don't you?" Harry said softly, picking up his own son. "Wizard like your Papa. I'm a wizard and Albus is one, too. You've done nothing wrong. Such things happen sometimes when little wizards and witches are confused or hurt," he explained.

"Darling, you were upset, weren't you? Why?" Draco asked. Scorpius was still crying, but much quieter now. He looked like he was trying his best to believe what Mister Potter and Papa had told him.

"You remembered something?" Harry tried to help, because Draco's question remained unanswered. Scorpius nodded.

"What, love? What did you remember that has made you so upset?" Draco asked, gently wiping the tears from the pink and wet face of his child with a clean handkerchief.

"Grandmamma and grandpapa," Scorpius answered quietly, still whimpering a little.

"I see..." Draco whispered pensively.

"...Miss them."

"I miss them, too..."

"When we go home to grandpapa and grandmamma?"

"Scorpius..." Harry breathed. Draco frowned at him a little.

"I can take care of it myself," he said and took his son away to their room, looking very depressed. It was going to be a hard conversation, because Draco couldn't hide the truth any longer. Harry sighed, following them with his eyes.

"They leave?" Albus asked, slightly troubled.

"No, Al. They can't leave," Harry sighed again and kissed his son's forehead. The attention was returned as the boy wrapped his arms around Daddy's neck.

When he put his both boys to sleep, he went down to the living room to get rid of the dead plants. Another faint tremor of Draco's magic, caused by hatred and pain, went through the entire house and Harry felt very sad.

He went to the kitchen later, when it seemed that everyone else in the house was asleep. He hadn't expected to see Draco washing the dishes. The curse probably hadn't let him go yet. Harry quietly sat down at the table and watched him carefully. Draco's back and shoulders looked tense. Harry wished he could make things better, but he didn't know how. When the blond finished putting the clean and dry dishes, wiped with a towel, into the sideboard, he suddenly tensed even more, his hands started to shake visibly and he bowed his head, fighting back tears that overflowed his very being. He knew he was going to break down, in spite of his best efforts, he just knew it. Why couldn't Potter just go to bed and let him break down without witnesses?

Harry heard Draco drawing in a shaky breath. Led by something he couldn't control any longer, with uneven heartbeat and numb mind he approached the blond from behind and embraced the shaking body with his both arms, embraced it with his everything. He held him tight; his beloved one, his only one... The weeping one, the unhappy one. Harry didn't know what would happen to him if he was going to be pushed away now. Would he go insane? Was he already insane? He needed this contact so much, though he couldn't hope it was mutual. He just didn't think about it right now. The lean body in his arms stiffened. It seemed it had taken time for Draco to realise what was going on. He made a weak attempt to pull away, but was held even tighter. In any case, he was too hurt right now and it dimmed his consciousness, so his body just leaned into the offered comfort. Harry let him turn around, but otherwise wasn't really loosening his embrace. The body in his arms was shuddering from sobs. Feeling weakness in Draco's knees and in his own, Harry made them both subside onto the floor, taking most blonde's weight upon himself and becoming a sure support for him.

"I've got you..." Harry mouthed, doubting that it was something that could be heard. As they were sitting there on the floor, he kept holding his love. He pressed the side of his face against the blonde's and felt the warm tear sliding down against his skin, though he knew it was Draco's tear. His own tears filled his eyes and soon he wasn't sure whose tears he was feeling running down his cheeks. He felt himself being held back when two lean arms were wrapped around his torso, and the shaking body was entirely pressed against his in search for even more comfort.

Through the foggy filter of his all-absorbing grief he felt Potter kissing him gently: his wet cheeks and jaw line were touched by the soft, warm lips. It was very tender, but frantic, nevertheless; just as tender and frantic as the meaningless whispers into his ear that were being alternated with the kisses. There was nothing sexual about it; these kisses meant to soothe and comfort. Draco couldn't react properly as he would have reacted if his mind was clear. But any sign of mortification was effectively suppressed by too much distress he was feeling right now. Harry took him whole, together with all his misery, and had him trapped within the sanctuary of his arms. His very presence said: _'Now you may relax, you can let it go, because I'm holding you. I'm going to take care of you now that you're so vulnerable, and I will never use what you consider weakness against you'_. There was no need to say it verbally or even think about it; it only meant to be felt.

After what seemed like half an hour, or probably a bit longer, Draco's sobbing turned into a weak sniffling. The collar of Harry's chequered blue and white shirt was wet and the side of the blonde's face was still pressed against it. Draco was resting against Harry, who kept holding him. If the circumstances were different, the dark-haired young man would've been absolutely ecstatic, having his beloved this close for the first time in his life (in the Room of Requirement, on the broom, when Draco had been holding him like a lifeline, could hardly be counted as a closeness, because it had been too fast and too dangerous to pay attention to anything except survival), but he didn't have to remind himself that Draco was only here with him, because he was in pain. He was in pain because of what had happened to his little son, and because he had just told the boy that he would never see his grandparents again. These were the reasons Draco was in Harry's arms, and it didn't matter if the heart full of love wanted it to be some other way. But if he could give Draco his compassion and comfort, he was ready to be more than generous, just to soothe some pain.

Semiramis had been watching this scene for quite a long time now, unnoticed. Both young humans kept sitting on the floor. Although Draco's arms weren't wrapped around Harry any longer, his hand was holding the fabric of the chequered shirt on the side of it. He'd stopped crying, but it seemed he wasn't ready to leave the sanctuary that two warm, strong arms had created for him. In the end, the sphinx couldn't help but smirk at the sight. Her very keen ear, however, made her aware that Draco's cub wasn't sleeping as good as his father thought. Semiramis went upstairs and entered the room quietly. Scorpius looked troubled in his sleep and he was probably about to wake up and start crying for his father. She jumped onto his bed gracefully (knowing where to jump not to rock the bed too much with her heavy body) and started to purr close to the ear of the distressed cub. Then she lay down on her belly with her paws tucked under her body and pressed herself to the human cub's back. Soon her warmth and purring calmed the blond boy down and he relaxed against her. She left only when she'd heard that someone was coming up the stairs.

Harry saw Draco to his room.

"You need some rest..." the dark-haired man said very quietly, failing to find anything else to say. It was all that was told. Draco only nodded before disappearing into his room.

Later neither of them wanted to discuss what had happened in the kitchen. It didn't seem like something they could put into words.

~*O*~

As Ginny had started to visit the quidditch training once or twice a week to restore her shape and skills, Harry was taking more days off from work to spend them with his children (and Draco). As much as he loved Molly and trusted her, he believed that children had to spend more time with their parents. And while Draco was busy doing his household chores, Harry was looking after Scorpius, too, to help Draco to finish his work sooner, because since Scorpius had started living with them, his Papa worked from morning to almost midnight, as he was distracted from work all day long, doing chores and paying attention to his child, at the same time. It meant that he was getting tired much more than before. He never complained, though. When Harry was with the children, Scorpius often went to see how his Papa was, but it was mostly brief and he returned to the nursery or to the living room, depending where Albus, Harry and James were. Of course, if someone else visited, Scorpius immediately left and spent all his time with Draco. It seemed that Albus and Scorpius were getting along very well. Harry had fun watching them sometimes.

"Daddy..." Albus once approached him, while Scorpius was sitting at the table and reading some fairy tale.

"What is it, Al? Why are you whispering?" Harry whispered back, smiling at his elder, almost five years old son.

"I want touch Scowpius' hair," his boy confessed.

"Why?" Harry smiled even wider. But Albus frowned sulkily and Harry tried his best to muster a serious expression on his face, not to make his son think that he was making fun of him.

"I like it," Al answered.

"Why do you think it feels different from the hair of any other person?"

"Diffewent?.. I don't know... It so white. Whiter than Vic's," the boy said, talking about Victoire Weasley, who was almost two years younger. "Dwaco's, too, but he get angwy if I touch."

"I see," Harry smiled slightly.

"May I?"

"You have to ask Scorpius, not me. Just tell him: "Scorpius, may I touch your hair?" and see if he allows."

"Okay," Al grumbled quietly. Sometimes Daddy wasn't helpful at all. He came closer to his blond friend and looked back at his Daddy uncertainly. Harry pretended that he wasn't watching, not to make his son feel shy or angry at being watched. The dark-haired boy almost whispered his request to his friend. Scorpius was a little surprised, but only for a second; then he shrugged and nodded, not making a big deal out of it. Albus looked back at Harry again to make sure Daddy wasn't watching. Harry pretended once again that he was wholly absorbed in playing with Jamie. And so Albus touched the very soft blond hair and passed his hand several times from the top of the fair head to the back of it. Just when he stopped, Draco entered the room for a minute.

"How are you, darling?" he asked. Scorpius took the big, yellow apple from the table and went to his father.

"Papa, look, apple have huuuge bruise," he informed, showing the dark spot on the fruit.

"Oh, really?" Draco smiled. "You're right, it really _**has**_ one. It must've fallen on the floor. Let me wash it for you again and cut it into slices," he said and kissed his boy's forehead. Albus, meanwhile, came closer to Harry, looking pleased with himself for getting what he'd wanted.

"Happy now?" Harry teased a little. Al nodded shyly with a small smile. Oh, children... If Harry approached Draco and asked for anything like this, he would've been held up to ridicule on the spot. Draco's hair always looked so fine. Sometimes it was combed back and sometimes Draco parted it at the side very neatly. Today it was the latter. What? There was nothing wrong with silently and covertly admiring something, wasn't it? He'd been doing it a lot for quite a long time, after all. Years, to be precise.

~*O*~

Even after more than two months since Scorpius had been returned to his Papa, things were developing with varied success. Scorpius kept giving point-blank refusals to leave the house without Draco even with Harry and Albus when they offered him to go for a walk. When Draco went shopping, which was _**very**_ rarely, it was always so early in the morning that Scorpius was still asleep when Draco left and only about to wake up when he returned home. Harry had given him the portkey, so he could apparate to wizarding London, not far from Diagon Alley and then apparate back almost at the entrance door of the house.

But one morning Scorpius woke up earlier than usual and, after searching through the house, went to the dining room, where Harry and still sleepy Al were having their breakfast. When he asked where his Papa was, Harry had no choice but to tell him the truth that Draco had left, but he wasn't far away (well, that wasn't quite truth) and would be home very soon. He tried to distract the upset little boy, but Scorpius started crying and looked absolutely miserable. Harry forgot his breakfast and picked the boy up, trying to soothe him. He went to the living room and sat down on the sofa, having the blond child on his lap. He didn't care if he was going to be late for work. Albus joined them.

"Shhh... Don't cry. Don't..." Harry murmured. "Papa is going to come back very soon, I promise. I'm sure he's already on the way home. You're his little boy and he loves you so much. He would never leave you. He loves you very, very much. Shh..." Harry rubbed Scorpius' back. The child was inconsolable. He was hiding his face in his hands and kept weeping. Albus joined his father, attempting to comfort his friend.

"My Daddy go to wowk often. He go to... Aunt Mione and Uncle Won, and... do other fings. And he always come back. Your Daddy come back, too. Don't cwy," Al assured, caressing Scorpius' fair hair. Harry chuckled to himself. It seemed his son had developed some kind of fetish for the little blonde's hair. His childish logic probably made Albus think that if it was pleasant and comforting for him to touch the soft locks, it was as well pleasant and comforting for Scorpius to be touched like this.

Very soon, just as Harry had promised, Draco entered the house. As Scorpius turned his tear-drenched face to him and saw him, he started to calm down. Draco approached immediately and took his son's hand in his own.

"Gods, Scorpius, I'm sorry, darling... I was just shopping. I was away for just a couple of hours. I intended to come back before you wake up," he explained. Scorpius looked at him with his reddened eyes and quite a blank expression. Draco opened the leather satchel at his thigh and retrieved something out of it. "Look, I have something for you," he said softly and gave his son the small, transparent, glass figurine of a hippogriff. It was magical and it spread its wings occasionally, as well as turned its head. Draco, of course, didn't have any money of his own; he had taken the figurine for free on the occasion of opening of the new shop that had a huge choice of goods, mostly china, dinner services and glass, crystal or porcelain figurines. He had asked the woman, who gave these presents to all the visitors who came to see the new shop, to give him one. She'd frowned at him a little, because the figurines were meant to be given to customers, not just those who'd happened to pass by. But when he'd said that he wanted to give it to his little boy, she gave up. It seemed she hadn't recognised Draco Malfoy, who'd been wearing his favourite traditional pointed suede hat with the silver buckle on its side. The brim of the hat shadowed his face a little, even though he'd had some of his platinum blond hair showing from under it. It was another reason for him to like this hat.

As Scorpius had unenthusiastically taken the figurine in his hand, he suddenly gave Draco a very hurt frown and threw his present on the floor with a loud, angry shriek. The figurine shattered and Scorpius ran away up the stairs. Draco was stunned. He felt a comforting hand that held his own. Harry couldn't help it, seeing how lost Draco looked right now. The blond slowly freed his hand and went to the kitchen to do his chores... Albus looked up at Harry very confused by what had just happened.

Only one hour later Harry, who had already taken the day off, found heart to enter the kitchen. He quietly sat down at the table. Draco paid him no attention, doing his work.

"He blames me..." he suddenly whispered without turning to Harry. His hands were shaking, but he kept tidying up. "Blames me for not preventing them from taking him away..." He shivered visibly.

"No..." Harry gasped quietly. Draco only nodded several times, silently arguing with him. But Harry shook his head insistently, even if he wasn't sure the blond could see it. "I'm sure he doesn't. He overreacted, but I'm sure he knows you would've never given him away of your own free will. He knows, Draco. He's going to be okay. He's with you now. He'll be fine, because you're together," Harry assured. The next moment Scorpius slowly entered the kitchen, looking very ashamed and guilty.

"Papa... I'm sorry," he said quietly, never looking up. "I upseted you." He hugged father's legs. Draco kneeled and they embraced each other properly. Scorpius caressed his Papa's face with his small hand. Harry looked at Draco, smiling, as if telling: 'See? I told you!', but his smile disappeared when he heard Scorpius whispering:

"Never again... Never go..."

Harry repaired the figurine and gave it to Scorpius, who looked relieved and thankful. It had a couple of tiny cracks, but it was whole. The figurine was a very delicate and elaborate work, so it was very hard to repair, not to mention that it was magical; at least, it had been. Unfortunately, it wasn't animated any longer and the hippogriff's wings were folded all the time. Scorpius didn't care, because it was a present from his Papa, so he treasured it.

~*O*~

The curse didn't care if Draco's son was terrified about the very thought of his father going anywhere at all, so one morning when Potter's wife, before leaving somewhere, told Draco to go buy some food and left him the shopping list, the curse was very displeased, because he tried to ignore her order and kept doing the other work about the house. The pain blossomed out in his chest, stomach and back, travelling up to his head and down to his feet. His spine felt like it was on fire and soon he was racked by unbearable pain. Draco couldn't even scream. He grew feeble and slowly ended up on the floor. Harry gasped in panic, finding him sitting on the floor of the kitchen in obvious pain. At the same time, Scorpius, who'd just woken up, entered, too.

"Draco, what is it? Are you hurt?" Harry asked, gently holding the blonde's face in his hands.

"Papa?" Scorpius whispered, holding his father with both arms and looking at him with worry.

"I'm fine..." Draco mumbled. The touches of both his son and Potter should have been nice and comforting, he felt it, he knew it, but it was overshadowed with pain.

"Let me help you." Harry helped him to sit on the chair.

"No... I have things to do," Draco refused.

"You're barely standing on your feet and obviously in pain. Draco, tell me what's wrong. Is it because of the curse? Why?"

"Couldn't leave Scorpius alone..." Draco whispered, hoping that only Harry heard him.

"I see... Ginny ordered you to go somewhere. Shopping?" Harry asked, starting to understand what was going on. Draco nodded.

"I'll just take Scorpius with me..." he said. Scorpius didn't feel safe in any places full of strangers, but, perhaps, if Draco held him in his arms the entire time...

"No. I cancel her order. Don't go anywhere today. Have some rest."

Harry brought him a cup of tea when Draco was half-lying on the sofa in the living room with Scorpius on his lap. As Draco was drinking his tea, Harry was sitting in the armchair, looking at him.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you," Draco nodded. The curse was letting go and the relief was so unspeakable that Draco was almost ready to weep.

~*O*~

Both Draco and Harry knew that it just couldn't continue like this, so Harry volunteered to help when Draco had decided to try out his new plan to make his son feel more at ease when he was leaving. Scorpius already had tears on his face when Papa had told him that he was going to leave for a while, but Draco promised the boy that he would be able to see him almost constantly if he would be staring out the window. The boy didn't look convinced, but he was being left with no choice. Harry put the upset child on the windowsill in the library and they both looked at Draco who left the house only to cross the street and enter the muggle shop to buy some food. Harry kept murmuring soothing words and promises to the little boy. When Draco came out of the shop, he smiled, looking up, and waved his hand to his son, who couldn't help but smile through his tears and waved back. When Papa returned home, he told Scorpius how proud he was of him and hugged him warmly.

Later they repeated the same thing several times and soon Scorpius stopped crying when Draco was leaving. Now the problem was to convince him that Draco would undoubtedly return just the same if he went somewhere else, somewhere where Scorpius couldn't see him. It didn't go without a lot of tears, but Draco returned in half an hour or so and soothed his boy. After several times things seemed to have improved. Scorpius worried about his Papa, missed him, but he knew that Papa would come back, so it didn't hurt him so badly any longer when Draco was going somewhere (which wasn't often, nevertheless, because, ironically, Harry, too, felt a bit uneasy when Draco was away; but the blond certainly had no idea about it). Harry and Albus supported Scorpius through the entire experience very much.

~*O*~

Unfortunately, the situation with other people still hadn't really improved. Scorpius was very nervous when he was invited to Al's birthday party on the ninth of May. Albus' "It my birfday and you mine fwend and I want you wif me" convinced him, of course, but he was quite tense with so many people around. Well, there wasn't a great many guests, but for Scorpius it was a huge crowd of strangers and a couple of times he retreated to spend some time with his father. Thankfully, Albus was very protective (in almost non-aggressive manner) and didn't let anyone approach his friend when someone wanted to coo over the adorable, quiet and shy blond boy. Harry was swelling with pride over his now five years old son.

~*O*~

Draco felt sad that he could give his boy so little. Even if Papa's very existence was like a greatest blessing for Scorpius, Draco thought that it wasn't fair that Potter's children were often showered with gifts from friends and relatives, not only on holydays, but any other days, too, and Draco couldn't even afford some sweets. He wasn't really envious about it, not at all. He just didn't feel like a good father that could just let himself pamper his own child a bit. Scorpius never looked hurt or offended when his friend was given presents, but he was a child and there was no way Draco could let him feel that he was any worse than other children and deserved any less tokens of parental love.

"May I have your permission to go shopping today? I could buy food or any other things you need. I'd like to take a walk," Draco lied. "Would you mind looking after Scorpius?" he asked, knowing that it was Potter's day off and he would be looking after his own sons, anyway. Harry looked back at him. The blond _**could**_ lie and it was very convincing. The slight wince betrayed him, and, most likely, it meant that the curse had punished him for lying to his master. However, the lie was insignificant most likely; the punishment would've been less tolerable otherwise.

"Yes, of course, you have my permission, but I don't think we need anything to buy, so just take a walk for as long as you want," Harry replied.

He was sure that Draco had nothing bad on his mind, but the curiosity was so irresistable... He firecalled Molly and asked her to spend an hour or two with the children. Scorpius didn't mind, but only when she paid him no attention at all. She already knew it very well, so she never tried to impose her attention on him.

Polyjuiced, Harry was following Draco down the street of wizarding London. He was a bit confused when he saw Draco entering the pawn shop.

It was the fourth pawn shop Draco visited. The impassive hazel eyes were scrutinising the piece of Draco's family heirloom jewellery, one of the four that Draco still possessed, because they'd been on him when he'd been arrested. Only two pendants and two rings had left of all the jewellery his family had had. He wore them almost all the time, but now he really needed some money, so it was time to give one of the things he valued so much, because they reminded him of his family. He couldn't use any Malfoy property, including money, whilst serving his sentence, and there was absolutely no guarantee that in fourteen years any of it would be returned to him. He really doubted that it would. There was actually some loophole in the law, which made it possible for an owner of a slave to appropriate a slave's property. Draco's lawyer, Prospero Atrax, had mentioned it before Draco had been sold. Fortunately, Potter was nothing like a person who was capable of doing anything like that. But it didn't mean that the property of Malfoys was safe and waiting for the heir, because... Well, because the Ministry consisted of bastards.

"Twenty five Galleons," the shop keeper said.

"This is an antique pendant, made of white gold; one of the perfect works of the famous French jeweller of the fifteenth century. It costs, at the very least, ninety Galleons," Draco argued.

"Twenty five Galleons. You should be grateful that I agree to do any business with you at all. This pendant has a crest of Malfoys on it, so I'm not even sure if anyone would be interested in it," the shop keeper lied without a twinge of conscience. "Take my offer or leave." And it was final. Draco felt bitter, but there was nothing he could do. One shop keeper in the other pawn shop had refused to have any business with him; the other two, just like this one, had used the tiny Malfoy's crest, engraved on the back of the pendant as an excuse to offer the ridiculously, unbelievably low prices that hadn't been different from the price that this one had offered. Yes, he knew perfectly well that it was just an excuse. He'd never been in any pawn shops before today, but he wasn't an idiot and he knew sneaky people when he saw them. He'd heard there were two or even three pawn shops in Knockturn Alley, too, but alone he would never go anywhere near that place without having his wand or probably even with it. It seemed he had no choice. _'Mother, Father, I'm sorry...'_

"Fine... Twenty five," he agreed, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice.

Harry watched Draco coming out of another pawn shop, looking despondent. There was a faint, but unmistakable, clanking of coins in the suede pouch that the blond was holding in his hand. Draco had just pawned his family jewel, Harry was sure of it. It was also obvious that the deal had been much more satisfactory for the shop keeper than for Draco. Noting to himself in which direction the blond was going, so he wouldn't lose him, Harry entered the shop. He didn't let the pleased looking shop keeper tell any greetings.

"Auror Potter," Harry introduced himself with firm voice, without bothering that he was still polyjuiced. "How much have you given him?" he asked. The confused man opened his mouth, but faltered a little. Merlin, Harry knew what was about to follow: 'I'm not sure I know what you're talking about' or 'I'm sure there's some mistake', or something equally pointless; he'd heard it all before and, frankly, he had no idea why people told things like that. Surely, they didn't think anyone would buy that, did they? But now he didn't have time, so, before the shop keeper said anything, Harry repeated: "How much? Don't lie to me and don't waste my time."

"Twenty five Galleons," still very confused shop keeper answered.

"Are you sure or should I check?"

"I swear, it was twenty five," the man said. Harry put twenty five Galleons on the counter.

"Take it and give me everything you've swindled from him."

"But..."

"I have no doubt that we could find some stolen items here. I'm sure you don't want to lose your shop because of your shady dealings."

And that had done the trick. The beautiful pendant, made of white gold, was now safely resting in Harry's pocket. He'd seen it on the blonde's neck before, when Draco had been ill almost one year ago and Harry had been changing his clothes. He suspected that Draco had had it on his neck, hidden under the clothes, all the time, at least, since he had settled down in Grimmauld Place. It was a rather small flower and Harry suspected there was some meaning of it. It was probably a tulip, but it resembled fleur-de-lis; however, its outer petals were less curled up and rather slightly turned inwards to the centre, unlike the petals of fleur-de-lis that were curled outwards and in a larger degree. There was a tiny diamond in the centre of the golden flower. Even though the pendant wasn't big, it looked rather exquisite.

Now he would have to pick the right moment to give the pendant back to Draco and not to make it look like something that the blond would find humiliating.

Draco took his time to choose something good to buy for the money he had. In the book shop he became interested in the set of cards, which were magical high quality pictures of some places of interest all over the wizarding world and some pictures also showed the nature of different countries, mostly landscapes. There were two hundred cards in this set, placed into the beautiful ornate wooden box. His Scorpius loved pictures, so Draco knew he was going to like it. He couldn't show the world to his son, so he could also use the pictures for teaching purpose. After almost twenty minutes of scrutinising the bookshelves, he picked four thick, large (to his boy they would seem huge) children's books that he thought would be interesting for Scorpius. He was a little child, but his reading skills and the ability of reading comprehension were something that made Draco proud. Well, everything about his son made him proud, but Scorpius was a clever boy and Draco could select the books, intended for slightly older children than his son. In case there were things too difficult for Scorpius to understand, he would always be able to ask his Papa and memorise the received information. One book was about seas, oceans and some forms of life they contained. There were a lot of beautiful magical pictures. The other book was about magical and non-magical animals, also full of pictures. The third one was full of different puzzles and riddles. And, finally, the last one, the thickest one, was the book on wizarding fairy tales and legends, also with a great many pictures. When Draco had been a child he'd had a lot of similar ones.

After the book shop he had very little money left. He entered the toy shop and spent a good half an hour, trying to decide what else to buy. He started to think that it would've been better if he'd taken his son with him to have a good time together, letting Scorpius choose toys he wanted. But, since he hadn't thought of it before, he deferred to his own taste. He found the big and beautiful jar with six jellyfishes. They weren't real, but they were magical and they moved and looked absolutely real even on closer examination. They also glowed in the dark, creating a gentle illumination and making the entire thing some kind of night light to boot.

Draco also bought the stuffed Nessie, the Loch Ness monster that resembled the ancient plesiosaur. She was so famous that even muggles knew about her existence, though most of them thought that she was just a legend. She was protected by the wizarding people, because she had already revealed herself more than once, in spite of their best efforts. She had quite a rebellious temper and did whatever she wanted. No one would ever be able to count how many muggles had been obliviated because of her antics; one of her favourites was turning fishermen's boats upside down, playing with them or with terrified people that were in absolute panic, trying to get out of the water and away from the monster.

The toy that Draco had bought was dark-blue with a lot of lighter thin strips on its spine from the back of its head almost to the tip of its tail. The toy could slightly turn its small head on its really long neck and its flippers and tail also moved a little sometimes. The toy was enchanted to react on the surrounding temperature, so when the environment was colder than it was comfortable, the toy Nessie became warm to keep a child untroubled.

Now he only had a little money to buy some sweets, which he did in the sweets shop.

He knew it was wrong to spend all the money like this. It would have been wiser to save it for Scorpius' clothes, because he knew that his son would soon grow out of his clothes and shoes. Draco himself would soon need some new clothes, too, even if what he had still looked decent; undoubtedly, it wouldn't last for another couple of years. But he couldn't have helped it. Anything for his child's smile. Nevertheless, it made him sad that he couldn't give his Scorpius everything his boy really deserved. He sighed and readjusted the strap of the enchanted satchel on his shoulder as he'd stopped for a moment.

Harry felt like he was reading Draco's mind right now. He knew exactly what the blond was thinking. When he saw the way Draco's eyes slightly watered, it only confirmed it. _'Don't be sad, love. Everything's going to be fine.' _

Draco still had a couple of coins in his suede pouch, so he decided to visit a hairdresser, which he hadn't done for a long time, so his hair had grown past his shoulders. Last time he'd had a haircut it was his mother who had performed it after she'd learned some good spell for it, since there was no way they could have visited or invited a hairdresser. It had been about a year and a half ago when his hair had been last cut.

The hairdresser recognised him when he sat down in front of the large, round ornate mirror. She didn't know and had never known him in person, but she knew about Malfoys, like most people, thanks to papers. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line and all her courtesy, which she'd showed before recognising him, had disappeared. He answered just as coldly as she had asked him what kind of a haircut he wanted. He was a bit afraid that she was going to ruin his hair, just because she didn't like him. Fortunately, she knew how to put her negative emotions aside and do her job. Several swishes of her wand cut his hair neatly; she parted it at the side of his head and slicked it down a little. It looked good. Draco liked his hair like this; certainly not short, but not long enough to reach the middle of the back of his neck. His hair never caused any trouble to hairdressers; it wasn't particularly thick and it was perfectly obedient. He paid for the woman's work and left her shop without saying a word.

Harry liked Draco's haircut, too. It reminded him of how the blond had usually done his hair when they had been in school.

Strolling down the street, he was deep in his thoughts. He'd been a slave for more than a year now, but certainly it wasn't something to congratulate himself with. There were almost fourteen more years of this ahead of him, unless Granger (right, Weasley) and other enthusiasts would find a way to abolish slavery. But if she succeeded, didn't it mean that he would have to spend the rest of his sentence in Azkaban, which in turn meant that he was going to die there, most likely? He would hardly survive it and his little son would be taken to an orphanage again! Merlin... No one knew what was going to happen. He suddenly felt how much he missed Scorpius and he knew perfectly well that Scorpius missed him, too, so he apparated to Grimmauld Place, giving his pessimistic thoughts no chance to ruin this day. Strangely, such thoughts often plagued him when he left the house for some reason. Once he entered the house, his legs were embraced warmly before he knew it.

"I missed you, Papa."

Scorpius was in the seventh heaven when he'd got all his presents. At first he'd been a little confused and asked if it was his birthday or something, but then he was just happy to no end, like only children could. He liked everything his Papa had given him.

"Papa, may I eat sweets wif Al?"

"Of course, darling; you may if you want to," Draco smiled. Some people taught their children to share as if it was obligatory, but Draco wanted his boy to share not because he _**ought **_to share (Draco thought it was stupid; there were no 'oughts' and 'musts' when it was about things that were nothing but deeds of goodwill), but because he _**could**_ share if he wanted to and when he wanted to.

It wasn't surprising that both Scorpius and Albus stuffed themselves with sweets, therefore, refused to eat their supper later. They played to their heart's content and ended up fast asleep on the sofa in the living room. Draco sighed, finding them like this after finishing his work. The faces of both boys and especially their hands were sticky and covered in many colours of sugar coating of all the sweets they had eaten. Their clothes was smudged with it, too, as well as the upholstery of the sofa (he really hoped he wouldn't be the one to clean it). Albus' hair looked like he had thoroughly mopped the floor of the entire room with it. It was obviously Potter's heredity, and Draco couldn't help but remember how his school rival's hair (that dark catastrophe on his head) had looked after each quidditch match.

Scorpius was hardly even waking up when Draco was bathing him before putting him into bed.

~*O*~

Harry racked his brains over the way to return the pendant to Draco. He hadn't thought up any good plan, so, after four days, without thinking, he just put the pendant on Scorpius' neck, making sure that the thin chain was securely fastened. He hoped that he wouldn't be there when Draco noticed it, but there was no such luck. When the blond had taken a break and entered the living room to spend several minutes with his child, he noticed the chain whilst arranging the boy's shirt collar. He pulled the pendant out and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Where did you get this pendant?" he asked, looking very confused. He was starting to think that there was probably something wrong with his eyes. Or with his head.

"Mister Potter say it's our and... he say it should be in family," Scorpius replied. Draco turned his face to Harry who was preparing himself to face the music. Draco didn't know what to do. He wanted to yell at Potter for following and watching him, for meddling in affairs that were none of his concern, for witnessing the way Draco had abased himself once more. At the same time, he thought how to fire up without startling his unsuspecting child, who was sitting on his lap. There was also another emotion – he was relieved that the piece of his family heirloom hadn't fallen into the hands of worthless strangers. Harry was carefully watching how all the emotions, that Draco felt right now, confused and almost stunned the blond young man. It seemed there was probably a chance to avoid the storm, because Draco was too dumbstruck. Ready for almost anything that was in store for him, Harry kept looking at him openly, fascinated by the sight of Draco's lips that had formed the small, sweet, pink 'o' in surprise. It was Scorpius who saved the situation.

"Like pillow..." he said, looking at the pendant on his palm.

"Huh?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. Draco answered, to his surprise, though the blond was looking uncertain, as if really doubting that he should speak to Harry at all, considering the circumstances.

"In his bed Scorpius had several embroidered pillows with the images of this symbol," he explained quietly, without looking back at Harry, but then he looked at Scorpius. "I'm surprised you remember them, Scorpius."

"I remember," the boy nodded.

"Do you want to know what this symbol means?" Draco asked him.

"Yes," Scorpius nodded again eagerly.

"Originally, it comes from a black tulip and represents power, royalty, respect to the dead ancestors, mostly the noble ones, and to the past in general, even when everything's lost because of wars, revolutions and... and so on... Many years ago they were a token of a ruler's favour. Some families still have this symbol on their crests, sometimes hidden, so it's hard to notice. And sometimes it's just used as a decorative design, like those on your pillows. It's just for decoration."

"Ancestors?" Scorpius asked. It took him some effort to pronounce the word. "Grandmamma and grandpapa ancestors?"

"Yes, darling, they are. And those who were before them."

"It resembles fleur-de-lis," Harry said.

"Well, it's a different flower and it has a different meaning. Fleur-de-lis is rather a muggle symbol. It's not easy to find it in the wizarding world. And, after all, images of flowers are often used in both worlds as symbols; some just more famous than others," Draco answered, still looking and feeling uncomfortable. He put Scorpius on the sofa and said that he had to go back to work. At the doors he turned his face to Harry and shook his head before leaving. Harry didn't know what to make of it, but it seemed that the storm had passed by. _'Oh, really? No "Potter, don't you think you have too much free time!"? No "Why don't you fuck off at once, Master, I'm sick of you!"? Wow... Now isn't that progress?' _Harry thought sardonically. Either it was Scorpius' presence that hadn't allowed Draco to explode with anger, or he was just too tired of fighting Harry's hero complex, so he'd started giving up.

~*O*~

But for Draco surprises had only just begun! A week had not yet passed since that pendant incident. Scorpius had already been put to bed more than an hour ago and Draco had just finished his work, so he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, too, because he felt beyond tired. But on the way to the room that he shared with his son he heard the arguing. He knew it was Potter and his wife and wasn't surprised, because he'd heard them wrangling many times before behind the closed door of their bedroom. As usual, he paid no attention to it, because it was none of his business, but when the subject of their arguing reached his ears, he stopped on his tracks. The annoying bint was revealing things that made Draco gape in shock.

"...Well, I'm tired of this! You make everyone pay for so-called injustice towards that ungrateful shit! First you put in Azkaban everyone who took part in the raid on Malfoys! Then this bastard tells you that he was supposedly raped and, of course, you believe him! And you put the so-called rapist in Azkaban, though I'm sure that Malfoy is just a liar; as he's always been! Finally, you bring his son here without even asking me if I want to see any more Malfoys in our house! You treat them like your family! Well, they are not, and they'll never be! You make muggles investigate some 'injustice' in the orphanage where this... this boy was apparently taken care of better than his useless git of a father would ever..."

"Enough!" Potter interrupted.

"No, don't shut my mouth! What's next, Harry?" she shouted. It seemed one of them had finally remembered to put a silencing charm on their room, so he couldn't hear anything else.

The blond was appalled. Potter had avenged the abuse of both Draco and Scorpius! People who'd killed Draco's parents were in Azkaban! Potter had put in Azkaban just about everyone who had made Draco suffer after his family had been found by the aurors. He was shocked, somehow awed and a little scared by all this information. He didn't even know how to react. On the one hand, he felt like he had almost nothing private left, which made him very nervous and mortified; on the other hand, he couldn't remember when he'd last felt this safe and protected. Oh, he remembered, it had not been long ago; and, specifically, it had been when Potter's warm, strong arms had been wrapped around him, but Draco hadn't been entirely conscious back then.

Conflicting emotions were tearing him apart and he couldn't decide what he really felt about all of it. It was too much information and too suddenly.

In one of the storerooms, in the corner, where some old papers were stored (Potter's wife had a strange habit to collect them), he found several that shed some light on the events that the bitch had been yelling about. All of it was true... At least, most of it, since it wasn't wise to trust the reporters completely. It had been on Potter's initiative that the murderers of Draco's parents had been sentenced to Azkaban. There were their photographs in the papers and Draco recognised almost all of them. And the one who had personally killed his parents, as well as some other ex-Death Eaters before them, had been sentenced to sixteen years (how funny that Draco, who had never killed anyone, had been sentenced to fifteen). And then he saw the photographs of his rapist in the later dated papers. He, of course, hadn't known how the bastard looked like, but when in one of the articles he read that it was Potter who'd arrested the man for the rape of some prisoner, Draco knew that it was him. Nathaniel Dawson was the bastard's name. Draco shuddered, trying to keep the memories away and refused to take a closer look at the photograph of that scum. It had been months since he'd let it rest in the past and he rarely thought about that awful night in the holding cell when he'd been so hurt and helpless. What he was looking for in the papers was his own name, the rape victim's name. And, to his shock, he hadn't found it. It was only written that the name, _**his**_ name, had been carefully kept secret, unlike the name of the other victim who had testified upon a trial. Potter had obviously taken care about not letting anyone else know about Draco's disgrace.

All three candles in the three-branched German silver candelabrum had almost burnt down, so Draco put the papers back in the piles and left, taking the candelabrum with him, since there was no light left in the house at nights. When he quietly entered his room, he kissed his sleeping little boy whose arms were wrapped around Nessie that Papa had given him as a present. The enchanted toy had obviously adjusted itself to make it more comfortable for the boy to hold it and rest against it.

Draco knew there was no way he would be able to fall asleep this night, but he was very tired, so he took a shower, changed into his pyjama and lay down into his bed. _'Oh, Harry... What are you doing, and why?..'_

* * *

_**A/N: Now you probably understand why Al is older than James in this story. If not... Well, for some reason that I can't really explain, I decided that Albus will be better than James for Scorpius as a friend, so they had to be of the same age (in this story Al is only six months older than Scorp). I know we've read a very few lines about them in the Epilogue of DH, but that information was enough for me to make my own conclusions. Anyway, it was my intention from the very beginning of this story.**_

_**Not important A/N: Before anyone asked, yes, I know about Kelpies (shapeshifting demonic horses, and, according to HP books, Nessie is one of them) :). But I can't help but like Nessie the way we, most muggles, imagine it, as a plesiosaur. **__**Take a look at these lovelies on ******__plesiosauria. c o m (look for the pictures in 'Galleries' and then '****__restorations' section)._

_**PLEASE, be nice and REVIEW!**_


	13. Almost

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story. **

**Dear reviewers:** Lientjuhh (Thank you :) ), penguin23 (Thanks! Enjoy! :) ), Sun (Thanks a lot! Now there will be no problem with guests' names :) ), Simply. Scarfy (Thank you, my dear! I hope you're going to like the new chapter :) ), Leonette Sarasz (Thanks a lot for reviewing :) ! But it's not true about Ginny's children :O. I'll make it a bit more clear in my A/N and in today's chapter itself :) ), makoslits (Thank you very much! :) Enjoy! ), Zei Kinomiya-Ivanov. Zeiriyu (Thank you for your wonderful review!), Lyn (thanks!), domsijohn (Thank you for reviewing! :) ), D. (What a wonderful review! Thanks!), Guest, who hasn't left any sign (Thank you!), Petuniac3 (Indeed :) ! Thanks for reviewing!), Aquarinus (So flattered! Thanks!), Guest with no sign who wrote that she or he was lazy to log in (Thanks so much! Enjoy! :) ), Naughty M. (Good to know! Thanks!), PrinceOfPariahs (I'm so glad! Thank you!), Koiame (It's always nice to get your reviews! Thank you! And here's the new chapter :) ), Leto (Thanks!), Maureen (Thank **you** for being so nice! I hope you're going to like the new chapter! :) ), MDarKspIrIt (Please, enjoy ;) ! Thank you for reviewing!), maximiliana (Thanks a lot!), Paola Dysson (Haha! Yes, some good Thorki stories have been posted lately. It doesn't happen often, so I couldn't read without commenting some of them :). Thanks for all your reviews! And, yes, **angst rules**!), Yuucchin (Thanks a lot for your review! Of course, there will be smut, I can't imagine my stories without it, but it won't happen too soon :). The story has not developed enough for it yet. Everything will happen in its rightful time ;) ), UnaDeCal (I'm so glad! Thank you :) !)

**A/N: It confuses me a little that some readers think that Ginny is a terrible mother and should be thrown out or dead. I really don't understand what exactly makes people think so. She hates Draco and can't leave the past, well... in the past (her hatred is quite mutual as you could see, partially because someone (*cough* someone very blond) is jealous as hell), and her marriage is a failure. But which part of it makes her a bad mother and even a really bad person that deserves death :O ? She has her opinions with which we can disagree, but that's all. And hers and Draco's mutual hatred mostly doesn't go further than verbal insults. She's not a bad mother; in fact, I've never showed anything like this. I've just never showed a lot of her, in the first place, unless it was something important for Draco or Harry. Because, frankly, you wouldn't want me to pay her too much attention, and I don't want it either. She has a very little role here. But I've made enough hints that she's quite affectionate towards her little boys. In the very beginning I've even mentioned that Harry and Ginny love their children equally, and that it's one of the very few things that keep them together for the sake of their boys. I also, mostly, make you see her with Draco's eyes and, of course, it influences people's opinion, because, as you can see, he's sick of her. Draco's opinion about her isn't really better than hers about him ;). **

**In this story I've never intended to show her as a cruel bitch whose place is in Azkaban or mental facility, because I know that such stories exist and my other story is a living proof, though I've seen much crazier ;). I just don't want people to get the wrong idea about this story. Just consider her a woman with the failed marriage and career, who has to live with someone she hates and someone whose family hurt her family in the past. Believe me, she could be much worse if she wanted to and if she was really evil (to prove it, I could make dozens of examples, but it would take too long), but, instead, she decided to find a outlet somewhere else. If it makes you feel better, I definitely don't like her; never have, never will, and Harry should be with Draco, not with her :P. But, hey, "kill her!" and "take her children away from her!" :O ?**

**In any case, today's chapter will change a lot of things.**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

_**13. Almost...**_

~*O*~

Even more than a week later Draco didn't know what to think of the shocking information that he'd eavesdropped. He still didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if he should be grateful or furious that Potter had once again meddled in the things that were none of his concern. It probably depended on what had induced his benefactor to do all of it. Yes, Harry's real motives were the key to Draco's reaction, which for now was rather ambiguous. If it was Potter's stupid and restless heroism and pity then Draco decided he wouldn't be able to forgive the outrageous invasion into his life, no matter how noble the bloody Saviour's deeds were; if it was actually because Potter _**cared**_ about Draco, it was an entirely different matter. The latter seemed so appealing... But he didn't want to be deluded by his own vivid imagination and, most likely, empty suppositions. No, he didn't want to make a fool of himself even in his own thoughts only because he'd suddenly imagined something.

The delicious cake that Draco had got on his birthday didn't help to dissolve his confusion either; not really the cake itself, but the way Potter looked like Draco's birthday was very important and meant something special to Potter himself. Such thoughtfulness was rather pleasant.

There was the other thing that had happened recently: Potter and his wife had split and decided to live separately. Draco wasn't sure if they had broken up permanently and were going to divorce, but it made Draco feel relieved, anyway. And when he'd accidentally heard that the bitch had a lover, he felt both pleased and livid for some reason. He'd been covertly prying and eavesdropping a lot lately, and he didn't like it, especially given the embarrassment that he would feel in case he was caught showing so much interest. Eventually, he forced himself to stop.

Harry and Ginny took turns in taking care of their children. Albus and Scorpius were sad that they couldn't spend as much time together as before. But, at the same time, Al wasn't happy that he couldn't see Mummy and Daddy every day. When he was with Ginny he, at some point, started missing Harry; and, when he was with Harry, he soon found himself missing his mother, even though she firecalled him every day. This situation sometimes ended with such temper tantrums that even Scorpius was hiding from his angry friend until the dark-haired boy calmed down.

~*O*~

Harry felt Draco's eyes on him pretty often. And every time he tried to look back, they looked at anything but him. That didn't prevent Harry from seeing that there was something unspoken and something important in these eyes. Draco wanted to tell him something, it was obvious (well, as obvious as Draco's intentions could be). Harry was dying from curiosity and desire to find out what it was. It was so thrilling. But, no matter how tempting it was, he didn't want to push the matters.

~*O*~

And then, one day, Draco entered his study (ever since Draco had cleaned and made it look more than just usable long ago, Harry had been using this room for his work, instead of kitchen, dining room or any other room), and Harry was very hopeful to hear... something (he still had no idea what), as he saw a tiny bit nervous and uncertain expression on the blonde's face. Harry was busy with his paperwork, the most loathed and boring work, in his opinion, but stopped doing everything, preparing himself to listen. Draco looked mostly calm and composed as he started speaking:

"Master, I wish to ask your permission to get a job. My son needs things I cannot afford otherwise," he said. Harry's face fell. He felt a pang of disappointment. So this was what Draco had been trying to tell him for all this time? Was it all about this? And this... this 'Master' again! At first Draco had been calling him that out of spite, now it was just a habit; but Harry didn't like it anyway.

Draco interpreted Potter's facial expression as 'no' and his mood fell, too.

"I'll make sure it doesn't interfere with my household chores," he promised. "It would be impossible for me to stop doing them anyway..." He quietened down, realising that he was mumbling. He probably had to leave right now and stop making a fool of himself.

"Of course," Harry almost exclaimed. He didn't want to be a git and upset Draco just because his, Harry's, expectations of 'something' were ruined. "Have you already found a job?"

"Not yet. I think brewing potions is all that could bring me some money. I'm aware that it's not going to be easy to find clients, because I'm not a licensed potioneer, but I'm willing to try. I'd like to put up an ad in a couple of newspapers; it's free. If it works, I'll return you all the money for using ingredients from the potions lab."

"No, I won't take anything for them. You know no one's brewing potions here, and all the ingredients are just going to get spoilt eventually. You'll actually do me a favour if you put them into use. You're free to use anything you require. The lab is yours."

"I appreciate it."

"Draco..." Harry sighed after a short pause. "I could easily afford any clothes and other things you and your boy need. I know I can't pay you for your work, because of that bloody curse, but I can just give you things that..."

"No," Draco interrupted. He refused decidedly, albeit it didn't sound too harsh. Although Potter gave some things for Scorpius and Draco himself, it was on his own initiative. Draco hardly ever asked him for anything. He wanted to have his own money.

"Fine then..." Harry sighed in defeat. Once Draco had left the study, Harry several times lightly hit his forehead against the desk in frustration.

~*O*~

At first the idea wasn't working. Not many people trusted unlicensed potion-makers and Draco couldn't blame them. And no one, undoubtedly, would trust a Malfoy these days; so he had taken a fictitious name. He took his first order only almost three weeks after starting to put up an ad in the newspapers:

_'Dear Mr Windstorm,_

_My child is dying from high fever and I don't have enough money to buy a potion in an apothecary. She has dragon pox. I've already spent almost everything I had for the cure, but it hasn't worked yet. According to your ad, you don't take much money for your brewing. All I have is four Galleons and twenty two Sickles. _

_Please, write back as soon as you can._

_Jamilyn Neill.'_

And Draco wrote back immediately to specify some details. Yes, Neill's daughter had already been given the cure, which had been invented by Gunhilda of Gorsemoor a very long time ago, but it was still the best known potion for this utterly unpleasant disease. It took time for it to work though, so the dangerous symptoms could still be present within a week or so after a person who was ill had taken the cure.

Draco knew what to do. He entered the potions lab, feeling almost ecstatic. He liked this place. He had long since put everything in order here and maintained it, just like in all the other rooms. About a year ago he'd got rid of all the spoilt ingredients and sorted out everything that could still be used. All the remained ingredients had been put under a stasis charm long ago and it still kept them fresh, though Draco knew it wouldn't last.

He opened the window with the diamond-shaped panes of glass to let more light and fresh air in, and then opened the thick book that he'd brought here with him. Narcissa hadn't forgotten it when she'd packed Draco's and Scorpius' things before their escape from France. The book had a dark-green suede cover and Malfoy family crest on it. Draco called it his personal grimoire, even though it was actually just a thick enchanted notebook. It seemingly had about three hundred of pages when, in fact, there was one thousand, no less. Draco had received it on his fourteenth birthday as one of the presents from his father. He'd been writing in it since then. He knew that 'grimoire' sounded a little high-flown, but he liked it. He'd written down many potion recipes in it and also a lot of spells that could've been useful someday. It also had a few simple ink drawings and several (long since irrelevant) reminders. He usually quickly turned the page on which there was the incantation to repair the vanishing cabinet and a couple of other pages that he wasn't ready to look at yet.

Since his sixth year at school he hadn't been writing in his grimoire often, but after Scorpius' birth Draco had written down a lot of useful things about child care, including the recipes of food, suitable for children, such as different kinds of porridges. And there were also a great many recipes of different purées, made of dairy products, fruit, vegetable, fish, poultry, seafood and other food products, mixed together in different combinations to be a wholesome food for those who'd started being spoon-fed, but didn't have enough teeth to chew. Draco remembered enjoying cooking for his son by himself, despite having an elf in their household. And, of course, in his grimoire there were many recipes of potions, safe and most helpful for children; for example, some potions and ointments useful during teething, and potions, good for those who'd caught cold or had any kind of allergy. There were tips on how to treat injuries and other unpleasant things. Of course, there was the aforementioned recipe of the potion that healed the dragon pox and several different recipes of the potions meant to reduce high fever, - exactly what he needed right now.

He picked one of the recipes, for which he had all the ingredients here in the lab, and gladly set to work.

Eventually, Semiramis, as curious as ever, had come to laze about in the armchair, because what was better than lounging, whilst looking at someone else working unhurriedly? But less than an hour later she left, disturbed by the smell of one of the herbs.

Once the potion was prepared, Draco quickly headed to the appointed place, using the portkey, given by Potter, the item that allowed Draco to apparate to wizarding London and back to Grimmauld Place. From the point where he found himself (it was the same place every time) Draco had to walk on foot for almost an hour and a half.

His client was very poor and lived in a tiny flat with her daughter in one of the shabbiest parts of wizarding London. Jamilyn Neill refused to pay before testing the medication, which Draco found wise. She didn't look like she'd recognised him. Either it was his traditional wizarding pointy hat that hid his hair (at least, most of it), or she just hadn't seen many pictures of Malfoys in papers. At first she tried a sip of the potion herself to make sure it wasn't something harmful, and then, feeling nothing wrong, she gave two tea spoons of it to her miserably looking daughter, entirely covered in red and greenish rash, as far as her nightshirt, soaked in sweat, allowed to judge. She was about seven years old or so and had a short auburn hair that slightly contrasted with her mother's sandy blond, but rather long hair. A half an hour had not yet passed, but the potion had started reducing the girl's fever and she fell asleep peacefully. Only then Draco was paid. He hated wasting time, because he didn't have much of it and the curse insistently reminded him that he had chores to do. But Draco understood his client's wariness, because he had a child of his own and wouldn't trust any stranger with his son's health either.

If he was oh-so-kind and half as selfless as Potter, he wouldn't have taken Neill's money, seeing how poor she was, but he wasn't. He took all the money she gave him. After all, the ingredients weren't cheap and the money that she'd paid had brought him a very small gain. No apothecary or self-respecting potioneer would've sold it this cheap. He wasn't going to perform any more kindness than that. Even if Potter had refused to take money for ingredients, Draco would have to replenish the stock, buying more ingredients, anyway; and flasks and vials cost money, too.

At least, he had a portkey to apparate back without wasting any more time. But, as he found himself at the entrance door, he realised that he couldn't just enter the house with three children inside, including his own, after the contact with a very ill person, even if he hadn't really approached that ill girl. He opened the door a little and, without entering, loudly called Potter, asking him to come outside. Harry, thankfully, wasn't far away and quickly headed to the door. Draco asked him to find some spell that healers used not to get infected from their patients and not to infect their own families. Draco had had the dragon pox when he'd been little, but he still could infect Scorpius and Potter's children. Harry quickly found the required spell and cast it on Draco and the area near the entrance door. It had a lingering effect, which was the bluish aura around Draco. It made both Scorpius and Albus awed and curious when the blond finally entered the house now without a fear of being contagious.

And his new work was this hard and always took more time than he preferred to waste. He enjoyed the time when he was brewing, but he didn't enjoy the time he wasted to deliver orders. However, he had no choice. The only clients he had, lived in the poorest and filthiest districts of the city. It was a seamy side of life and he'd never seen such filth before. Some houses looked like they were about to collapse. The run-down alleys and back streets looked like places you'd never want to visit, especially at nightfall; that's why Draco preferred delivering all orders before sunset. In addition, it seemed that everything had been built for a stranger to get lost in some especially unpleasant parts of the city; there were dead ends where you expected way outs.

Despite the fact that his clothes weren't new, it was _**far better**_ looking than clothes that most people wore in those shabby districts. His clothes, actually, still seemed quite decent even for better places than this, so he tried to be as careful as possible, afraid to be robbed of that little money he gained for his work. The same reasons made him leave all his jewellery at home.

Some man sent him the letter and offered him a good deal if Draco agreed to brew some certain substances that made people 'happy'. The money was tempting and theoretically Draco could brew anything, but he decided not to reply this letter at all. Having more problems with the law than he already had was simply unthinkable.

Mostly, his indigent clients ordered healing potions. Some people in those seedy places had problems with their magic to the point of being almost as good as squibs (they ordered potions to make things just a little better for them if their situation could be helped at all), and some other people were physically ill with the most disgusting diseases. Draco once nearly lashed out at his client, the prostitute that offered to pay him with her body, not money. He wasn't sure he'd managed to hide his disgust at the utterly unappealing offer. And the whore had a nerve to look offended at his refusal! In the end, she gave him a dab of money, saying that that was all she had, which, he was sure, was a lie. But she had a wand and he didn't, so he left with what she'd given him, highly discouraged.

One day Draco nearly got into a serious trouble, delivering several flasks of the potion that people usually used to accelerate the growth of some plants. He endured a great deal of uneasiness on the way to the appointed place, because his way lied through the streets with a lot of abandoned or half-ruined hovels and then there were several, supposedly safely locked, warehouses with not a single living soul around. He already regretted taking this order. Normally, he would've turned back and to hell with that order. But no! For some reason, he decided that, since he'd already gone this far and had wasted so much time and so many ingredients on brewing, turning back wasn't a good option. When he finally reached his destination after walking for so long, he was met by the slightly more decent hovels than those that he'd seen before, and they were inhabited by some very strange people, dressed in well-worn, dirty-grey hessian robes. Everyone wore the same eyesore of clothes. It looked like they were some community that preferred living separately from everyone else. Draco noticed that there were small gardens near the hovels, where local residents, most definitely, grew their food. Most definitely, that was the reason some of them needed the potion that Draco had brought with him. He would've never believed that he was still in London if he didn't know it for sure, because it didn't look like a part of the city at all. And they all looked at him like he was from the other world they'd never seen before. When he asked about the man who had ordered the potions, one of them silently went after the man, who seemed to be their leader. He looked friendlier and more civil than the others. The man explained that their only potioneer had died last week, so they needed someone else to brew, but when Draco made a tactful hint about the payment, the man said that not a single person among his followers had any money. Instead, he offered to pay with his knowledge about their religion that kept them alive without any money or magic (they seemed to have willingly refused to use magic at all, because their two gods were 'all they ever needed'. However, it hadn't stopped them from ordering potions from someone who didn't belong to their community). Draco was livid. He'd made such a long and dangerous way just to hear some insane preaching! When he demanded payment, saying that he wasn't interested in their ways, they got angry and hound their dogs on him. They weren't even normal dogs, they looked like big, excessively drooling, demonic Rottweilers with red eyes and huge jaws! Draco ran like hell, knowing that the monsters followed him. Thankfully, he had his portkey and it saved him from being torn apart. He apparated and nearly ran straight into Potter's (welcoming-looking) arms.

Harry certainly wanted to know what had happened and he was very concerned, looking at the blond, who was recovering from the panic, but was still out of breath. Draco was ashamed, but still told everything, once he'd got his breath back. And Potter didn't look like an auror, interested in criminals to be punished, he looked like he really cared about Draco and wanted to make sure he was okay. Of course, Potter wasn't going to leave the insane fanatics alone, but Draco felt like _**he**_ was much more important than that. When he gave more details about the monsters of the dogs, Semiramis (who, unsurprisingly, had been eavesdropping) was appalled and immediately joined Harry, so now they were together fawning over the upset blond until he felt that it was starting to get too much and snapped at both of them angrily for their 'stupid cooing'.

~*O*~

And that was it! That incident with fanatics had exasperated him; he'd had enough. There was too much risk for such pathetic amounts of money. In order to avoid anything like that again, Draco started arranging all the meetings on neutral territory, in much safer places. He was losing most of his clients because of it, which was outrageous! They all were wizards and witches, for Merlin's sake (some squibs didn't count), they could travel without much trouble, except for those whose magic was unstable. But no! They wanted him to bring everything right in their dirty, shabby houses or in the run-down streets where they felt like home. But he didn't care any longer, because it definitely wasn't worth it.

But, even so, it took him a lot of time. First, reading and writing letters to come to an agreement about conditions, then arranging appointments if he and his clients agreed (sometimes it took unforgivable amounts of time), then brewing, of course; and, finally, he met clients that sometimes tested potions before paying him ridiculously small sums of money.

At the same time, he had to make his usual housework and, of course, spend time with Scorpius. It was a challenge even with the laughable number of clients he had. He didn't have enough sleep and he didn't know how much longer he was going to last like this. After a little less than a month of such a physical (and sometimes mental) stress he was starting to feel that he would hardly be able to go on. But he needed money so much...

~*O*~

Despite the weariness, Draco was enjoying this day alone with his son, even though he was busy with his chores. Potter's children were with his wife until the evening, but then she came and silently left them with Draco just as she and Potter had obviously agreed. Potter himself was at work.

For some reason, he hadn't come back at his usual time. Draco put Scorpius to sleep and then the other children, too (slightly annoyed that _**he**_ was the one who had to do it), and returned to his housework. Potter still wasn't home and didn't even bother to firecall, to Draco's irritation. As far as Draco knew, he never took any night shifts. And why would he take any extra work if he knew that his children were home? He pushed the thought away. After all, it wasn't his business what Potter did after work (was it?).

He was in the kitchen, drinking tea when he heard that someone flooed in. It had to be Potter. But then the blond heard the noise of breaking glass. It startled him and he warily headed to find out what was going on. The house was perfectly warded, but still...

He saw Potter still standing near the fireplace. The dark-haired man was breathing heavily and looked like he was about to faint. There were pieces of the broken vase on the floor. Potter must have brushed against it accidentally and it had fallen. Suddenly, Draco saw the red drops of blood on the old, but exquisite pattern of the stone floor. He wouldn't have noticed it if Potter was standing on the carpet in some distance from the fireplace, but on the grey stone he could see the small red pool clearly. It was at Potter's foot. Draco's mind was in panic and he only managed to realise that the blood had nothing to do with the broken vase, which, most definitely, meant that Potter had been injured at work or after it. He was still in his auror robes.

Harry reeled on his feet a little. It seemed his injuries were much worse than he'd previously thought.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked him.

"Nothing..." Harry replied quietly. "Just a fight... with several criminals... We've... arrested them, anyway," he mumbled. "Just tired..."

"You have to sit down," the blond said and actually helped him to make it to the sofa, which wasn't easy, because Harry could hardly walk. Something was definitely wrong with his left leg. Draco helped him to sit down. "Let me see..." He kneeled and started to pull up the trouser leg. The fabric was wet and very soon Draco realised that it was soaked with blood as he stopped and looked at his hands. It was, indeed, blood. Feeling uneasy, he resumed pulling up the trouser leg, this time he did it more carefully. Harry, meanwhile, put his head on the back of the sofa and tried to stay conscious. He was shaking. The pain was terrible, but, since he wasn't entirely conscious, he could bear it. He was pulled back to reality by something that could be hardly described as anything else rather than short, muffled shriek and then there was a shuddering gasp. He looked down and saw Draco shrinking back with the expression close to terror; even though everything swam in front of Harry's eyes, he saw it. The muffled, scared noises had definitely been made by the blond.

"What is it?" Harry mumbled softly. And then he saw it after trying his best to focus. His shin was badly injured and the piece of his bone, his broken tibia, was sticking out of the bleeding wound. Harry examined the damage carelessly as if looking at something in a shop and deciding if he needed to buy it. "Bloody hell," he sighed. He didn't want to concentrate any longer, because it worsened the pain.

"Potter, for Salazar's sake!" Draco exclaimed, once he'd found his voice. "How have you even managed to get home with such a fracture? Merlin... "

"Wanted to get home... Missed children and... you..." Harry smiled weakly.

"You're delirious, Potter," Draco frowned. "I'm firecalling to Saint Mungo's."

Harry saw him approaching the fireplace quickly, but then he stopped hearing, seeing and thinking for some time, the pain was gone, too. Later it gradually returned and he could hear and see again even if it was hard for him to focus.

After firecalling to hospital Draco turned to Harry and couldn't decide if the other man was conscious at all. Trying to control the panic, he quickly grabbed the clean towel in the kitchen, twisted it and tied it around Harry's leg above the wound as tightly as he could. This was going to reduce the bleeding. He wasn't sure he could do anything else. Touching the wound itself meant moving that sharp piece of bone and that would only bring more harm. Draco shuddered as he saw the bone once again.

"Where's your wand? Will you be able to concentrate and cast a spell to stop the bleeding or any healing spell? Potter... Your wand," he tried. Harry only moaned. He opened his cloudy eyes. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. Draco soaked the other towel in cold water, squeezed the extra water out of it, and then returned to the living room and pressed the cold, damp, folded towel to Harry's forehead. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd actually heard a sigh of relief.

"...Must've lost my wand," Harry finally answered with an effort.

"How could your stupid colleagues just let you go in such a state?"

"I've just... left. They didn't see, I guess," Harry shrugged.

"Of course. I wasn't expecting any less from you," Draco said sarcastically with a scowl. Harry smiled at him tiredly. In fact, Draco was very nervous and scared, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "A healer will be here in five minutes or so," he informed, just to fill up the uncomfortable silence. He thought he should have said that it was Harry Potter who needed help. There was a good chance that it would have made the entire hospital staff floo in immediately.

"Your hand..." Harry croaked.

"Excuse me?" Draco scowled a little, trying to understand what Potter wanted from him. Harry muttered something unintelligible and tried to reach out and take the blonde's hand in his. Draco still didn't understand what the other man wanted. Potter failed to touch his hand, because, most likely, saw double or triple, so his fingers only met the air, not to mention that he felt weak. Draco didn't know what made him comply, but he did and let Harry take his hand in his. And then, to the blonde's surprise, Harry smiled and pressed the soft palm of his pale hand to the side of his own, slightly stubbly face. Potter's body language clearly indicated that he was literally begging for a touch. And Draco, for some reason, allowed him that. Harry smiled again serenely, despite the pain. Several moments later he pressed the palm to his lips and kissed it slowly and gently, before moving the hand back to the side of his face and slightly rubbing his cheek against it, and then he stopped and was just holding it against his hot skin. The palm seemed pleasantly cold and it made Harry feel an additional comfort.

"You're..." Draco started in slight confusion, but he didn't even know what he wanted to say. The other man's actions seemed very... intimate.

"Yes, I know," Harry nodded weakly. "I'm very hurt, so... I have an excuse... for acting strange; please, let me," he whispered in the end. _'What can you do when your feelings are too much to handle, too much for your sanity to take?.._' he thought suddenly. The pain was definitely affecting his mind. It startled him a little; he sincerely hoped that he hadn't said that poetic nonsense aloud, but he couldn't be absolutely sure. No, he hadn't. Draco would've peed himself from laughing if Harry had said anything like that, and since Draco didn't look like he'd peed himself, everything was fine. Fine, except for Harry's broken leg and probably some other injuries. He kept holding the soft hand against his face.

"Could you just pretend that..." he mumbled, feeling himself starting to lose consciousness.

"What?" Draco quietly demanded him to continue, feeling slightly confused.

"Nothing..." Harry concentrated on the hand against his cheek to stay conscious and not to say something he would undoubtedly regret later. His eyes watered, but not only because of the pain that racked his body mercilessly, but rather because he'd allowed himself a touch (both figuratively and literally) of something that, he was sure, he would never really have.

In his state not really soon he noticed some other person standing in front of him. Sadly, the hand was gone and he couldn't remember the moment when it had happened. The person in front of him was a woman, dressed in healer's robes. She told him something, but he could hardly understand and _**didn't**_ _**want**_ to understand. He couldn't care less about it. Actually, he was starting to get angry; all he wanted was that hand back on his face and to hell with everything else. Draco was nowhere to be seen, but presumably he was behind Harry, who could hardly move to turn his face and see if the blond was really there.

The mediwitch and her young apprentice took care of Harry to the best of their ability. The broken bone was moved in the proper position after Harry had got the monstrous dose of the strong pain-relieving potion that made him stop feeling any pain from the healers' manipulations. During the procedure Harry noticed Draco from the corner of his eye. The blond was here, in the living room, but he looked very pale and refused to look at what was happening.

The bone was immobilised to heal properly and the magical surgery was performed on the wound itself. In the end it was bandaged over some ointment application. The bruises on his body mostly faded after some healing spells, though he didn't have many to start with. They wanted to take him to St. Mungo's, but he murmured that he wanted to stay home. They tried to convince him, but he decidedly refused. Then the mediwitch asked Draco to bring Harry's pyjama, which he did, and Harry was cleaned and changed into said clean pyjama. It made him feel better and he wanted to have a good sleep now that it was over. The mediwitch's apprentice brought Harry upstairs whilst Draco led him to show where Harry's bedroom was. It wasn't the one he'd been occupying whilst living with his wife; he had the other room now, closer to the nursery, which was more convenient.

Sleepy Harry was put into bed and covered with the blanket. The healers left some instructions to Draco and flooed away with a promise to come back the next day.

Later Harry's colleague visited and brought Harry's lost wand. He was startled as Draco had told him that Harry had been wounded and asked a lot of questions. Draco shortly answered some of them and quickly showed the auror back to the fireplace, softly, but still pretty obviously hinting that the man had to go. Draco wasn't in the mood to deal with Potter's colleagues or anyone else for that matter. When the man was gone, the blond went to Harry's room and put the wand on the bedside table. Potter slept peacefully and Draco left quietly, not wishing to disturb him.

Draco got up early in the morning and started the day with brewing potions that Potter needed to be healed. Without any difficulty he found all the required recipes in a couple of books, taken from library. He brewed everything that was in the prescription that the mediwitch had given him, except for one of the potions that took almost nine hours to prepare. Fortunately, all the other prescribed potions were much quicker to brew and three hours later they were prepared, as well as the special ointment. And, fortunately, Draco had all the required ingredients. Everyone else in the house was still asleep by the time Draco had finished. To his delight, he felt that the damned curse considered his brewing as work, because it was meant for his Master. He was in a rather good mood and pleased with himself, once again thinking that brewing potions was his vocation, no less.

He visited Harry to give him several potions just as the mediwitch had instructed. He made sure the doses were correct. The dark-haired man was already half-awake. He silently and sleepily took all the potions (some of them were still warm) that Draco gave him, without questioning, because he trusted Draco, no matter what other people would have said about it. It was Draco who spoke first:

"What the bloody hell happened yesterday that you acted like a complete moron and came home with the open fracture?" he frowned. Harry took several seconds to compose himself and to remember everything that had happened to him last night.

"I was just shocked, that's all. I thought that you were here alone with the children and I just really wanted to go home. It was just a shock," he explained. It warmed his heart that Draco seemed to worry about him. At least, it looked like that, even if it was concealed with anger.

"You're not allowed to shuffle around for, at least, two weeks. I'll bring you your breakfast," Draco said and left.

It was the first time he was cooking after a very long time (last time it had happened in hiding with Scorpius). Thankfully, there were cookery books in the kitchen.

He cooked breakfast for Potter and himself. And for the children he cooked more appropriate things, considering their ages. He smiled as out of the corner of his eye he saw Scorpius sneaking up at him, thinking that Papa wasn't noticing him. Two little arms were wrapped around his legs affectionately, and Draco's smile widened. Scorpius looked up at him curiously, because he didn't remember his Papa ever wearing an apron before.

When he brought the tray with breakfast in Harry's bedroom, he saw Potter coming out of the bathroom, which was connected to the bedroom by the door. Harry was leaning on the crutch and at first it confused Draco, since its origin was a mystery to him. But he quickly noticed that the chair, which had been next to the bed before, was now missing, and it made him assume that the crutch had been transfigured from it, especially given that the crutch was made from the same dark wood. Harry's face was slightly wet from all the efforts that he made not to put any stress on his immobilised, but certainly still pretty broken leg.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco asked, wanting to scold him for getting up.

"I needed to brush my teeth and use the toilet," Harry shrugged. At first Draco felt the urge to help Potter to sit down on the bed, seeing his sufferings, but before he put the tray on the bedside table, Harry sat down heavily without any help, once again doing his best not to hurt himself in the process. He sighed unhappily, but when he turned his face to the bedside table where he saw the tray, he smiled.

"Crepes," he almost purred. There, on the plate, were three crepes with filling wrapped up in each of them. One of them was filled with caviar, the other two with sliced cheese and greens. There also were sliced vegetables, tea in the porcelain teapot, the little saucer with several thin rounds of lemon, in case Harry wanted to put it in his tea, the sugar bowl, the cup and the big green pear. The sight of all of it whetted Harry's appetite immediately and he started eating, once he'd managed to make himself more or less comfortable. He wanted to thank Draco, but the blond was already gone.

Draco and Scorpius had their breakfast together and then Draco went to take the dishes away from Potter's room. Albus was already there, cooing over his 'huwted Daddy'.

Harry thanked Draco, looking very content. He'd eaten everything, even all the rounds of lemon. He told the blond that he could firecall Molly Weasley, so she would take Albus and James to the Burrow, and Draco agreed. But when he left the room with the dishes to wash, Scorpius, who had heard Harry accidentally, as he'd followed his Papa, said that he wanted to whisper him something in the ear. Draco complied and kneeled, so his son could reach his ear. The boy asked him to look after them all and not to let 'Al's nanna' take his friend away. He promised to behave. Draco became thoughtful. On the one hand, he wasn't looking forward to being a nursemaid at all, on the other hand, he didn't really want to see any Weasleys here, and the woman would, most definitely, annoy the hell out of him, coming here to fuss over Potter and stay with the children right here to kill two birds with one stone and look after all of them. No, Draco would rather do what his son had asked him than endure her presence, or worse, the presence of the entire redhead family, and Potter's wife to boot. He shuddered at the thought. And why would he upset his son? His answer was positive and Scorpius squeaked happily. After kissing his boy's head Draco quickly went to Potter's younger son, because he'd heard that the toddler had already woken up and needed to be fed and looked after (unfortunately for Draco).

There were several visits within the next several hours. First, the mediwitch came to examine Harry and then several Harry's co-workers showed up to make sure he was all right, since one of them, the one that had brought Harry's wand last night, had informed the others about their colleague's trauma.

When they were gone, Draco brought Harry his lunch and went to do other things. And, when he returned, he started tidying up Harry's bedroom after opening all the windows wider to let more fresh air into the room. Harry, meanwhile, was lying in bed as before. Bored, he was reading the book that he'd stopped reading some time ago, because it didn't seem very interesting. Now he'd got back to reading it, having nothing better to do. But very soon his eyes left the book and turned to Draco, who was currently tidying up with his back turned to Harry. The green, disobedient eyes were concentrated on Draco's lower back and bum, where, as Harry knew, were those two adorable dimples above the beautiful buttocks on the small of the blonde's back. All of it was hidden from Harry underneath the black, expensive fabric of the trousers. But that was all right, because Harry's visual memory wasn't bad at all. Those dimples and the pale backside... Suddenly, the sick leave and the bed rest didn't seem boring at all, and the life seemed better; suddenly, he felt like Draco's presence itself was healing him, stirring all possible reserves of his body and soul. _'Lovesick fool,'_ he thought, smiling at himself and feeling sadness and longing in his heart, his eyes once again riveted to the blonde's bottom and back, and to everything else that Harry couldn't touch. He didn't know if it was him or the strong medication that he was taking (_'It's definitely the latter!'_), but he suddenly felt like he was in front of the Mirror of Erised that was cruel enough to show something that a person really, really wanted, but couldn't have.

Draco turned his face to him unexpectedly, his eyes suspicious, as if he physically felt that the other man was eyeing him inappropriately, and Harry immediately returned to reading (or rather he made it look like he was reading). The blond seemed to have bought it and returned to work. He'd almost finished, anyway.

"It's time to take your potions," he reminded after collecting the empty dish and the cup and putting them on the German silver tray.

"I'm glad you're taking care about me..." Harry smiled, a little wryly.

"Is that what it looks like to you? Well, don't get the wrong idea about it. I just don't want to be inherited by your bitch of a wife in case you die," Draco shrugged matter-of-factly.

"My _**ex**_-wife." the dark-haired man corrected.

"Oh..." The grey eyes widened a little. _'Divorced then,' _the blond thought, trying his best not to show the delight and excitement that he couldn't help but feel at the other man's words_. 'It's hardly your business, so stop it,' _he tried to calm himself, but his heart refused to obey. At least, the bitch wasn't going to return to live here in this house again, was she?

"Well... I'm glad that I'm, at least, the lesser of two evils if you prefer me to her," Harry smiled.

"It's hardly a reason for you to flatter yourself," Draco drawled with his nose in the air, even if it was obviously only for show. He went to the door with the tray in his hands.

"And I'm not going to die," Harry assured cheerfully behind his back.

"An annoyance I'm well aware of," the blond sneered and smirked, looking back out of the corner of his eye. Harry laughed and Draco liked this sincere sound. Meanwhile, he noticed the Siamese cat, demanding his attention and starting to rub the pointed face against his legs, and Draco realised that he'd forgotten to feed the cat, too absorbed in the other things. The feline meowed accusingly.

"Versailles, come with me. Versailles," Draco called, exiting the room. The cat followed eagerly.

"You call him Versailles? But he's Meow," Harry said with amusement.

"Versailles suits him better," the blond replied as he'd stopped for several moments.

"God, he even responds to it."

"It's proud and beautiful; of course, he does. I've been calling him that for almost a year now," Draco declared cheekily, walking away and raising his voice proportionally to the distance he made away from the room, so Harry could hear him, though it never came anywhere close to shouting.

The green-eyed young man sighed contentedly, relaxing. Maybe breaking his leg really wasn't so bad, after all? Draco's demeanour was unusually pleasant today, which (well, that and the strong pain-relieving potion) made Harry forget that his situation was hardly something to be so happy about.

But when he fell asleep, it was restless. He dreamt of probably finally losing his mind and ordering Draco to undress. The order was pretty stern; it was a demand. He had a power, he could even feel it, connected to the curse that had been put on the blond, and Draco simply couldn't disobey. Harry's stomach churned at the hurt and betrayal he saw on the blonde's face, but Draco complied slowly, and soon was in front of Harry absolutely naked as the day he'd been born, making Harry's heart stutter at the sight that he'd obtained against the other young man's will. In spite of self-hatred and shame, Harry's next order for Draco was lying down on his, Harry's, bed with his legs open wide, so he could scrutinise the exposed body and its intimate places, and to have a better access to them. And his despondent slave obeyed once again. He was soon lying on his back and parted his knees tentatively, turning his face aside, not to meet Harry's lustful stare...

Thankfully, Harry woke up at this point of his dream, breathing heavily, feeling very aroused and extremely embarrassed. He blamed the medication and decided not to think about the disturbing (and very erotic) dream too much.

~*O*~

After making sure everyone in the house was fed, including Versailles (also known as Meow) Draco had to spend some time in the potions lab, busy with the potion that was still simmering slowly. It was time to add two more ingredients and some water. Potter would be able to get it in less than three hours, if, of course, it wouldn't be ruined during these last hours of brewing. The potion was tricky. For the most part, Draco trusted his skills, but, with all the other things on his shoulders right now, he was a little worried about making a mistake.

To be able to spend an hour in the lab without worrying for the children and without being distracted, he had nothing else left to do but ask Semiramis to look after them (mainly after Scorpius and Albus, because James wasn't really a problem, still unable to get out of his playpen). She agreed reluctantly.

At first everything was fine, but then she got bored, and, in the end, her methods of babysitting included the tickle torture that she performed with the tufted tip of her tail, circling both boys. It made them shriek at the top of their lungs and finally they both wetted themselves, to Draco's horror; because, annoyed by their piercing shrieking and laughing, hearing it even from such a distance, he'd come back to the nursery to see what was going on. Both boys looked terribly ashamed, sitting on the floor next to each other, but kept giggling quietly as Draco buried his head in his hands, seeing the wet result of Semiramis' 'babysitting'. He angrily accused the sphinx of doing it on purpose and started suspecting that the bitch had probably taken some catmint (or something like that) earlier. She replied that she had just been entertaining the children and herself and that gods had not created her as a nursemaid for human cubs, and Draco had had to think about it beforehand. And then she left, slowly swaying her notorious tufted tail and leaving the blond human to deal with all the consequences.

Despite all of that, Draco had managed to brew the potion perfectly. Today the curse was satisfied with his work much earlier than before, probably because he'd done so many things since the early morning in a shorter time than usual. But it didn't mean he could have a rest, because he still had the children to look after and to cook for all of them, including Potter. Draco was tired, but to send it all to hell and have some rest he would have to firecall Potter's relatives and endure them here. It was a very unappealing option for him. In addition, Draco's memory kept returning him to the moment when Harry had taken his hand, pressed it against his own face, kissed the palm and rubbed his face against it. Had Potter been imagining someone else, not Draco back then? His wife (well, ex-wife)? It didn't really make sense to the blond. Later he agreed with himself on the version that Harry hadn't imagined anyone else, knowing perfectly well that it was Draco's hand he was holding, but he'd been delirious because of his trauma, therefore, hadn't quite realised what exactly he was doing. Thinking about it too much ended with burnt supper to Draco's irritation. The curse, thankfully, didn't punish him, but it was displeased. And his good mood that he'd had in the morning and during the entire first half of the day was gone because of the tiredness.

Draco wasn't really well-rested the next day even after sleeping like a log. Fortunately, the day was calmer than the previous one and the children _**mostly**_ behaved. Harry slept most of the time, due to the side effect of one of the potions. The mediwitch visited again and Harry wasn't happy to be woken. But, once she'd left, he fell asleep again and hardly woke up even when Albus came to him and started jumping on his bed, for which he was reprimanded by Draco and shooed out, to the little boy's frustration and anger. Draco quickly stopped the beginning tantrum by threatening the imp that he wouldn't allow him to play with Scorpius any longer if Al intended to test his patience. It had worked perfectly fine.

~*O*~

On the third day, however, the bunch of Potter's friends and relatives flooed in. Somehow they'd found out about what had happened to Harry. Perhaps, some of them knew someone among his colleagues and the information had just slipped in one of their conversations. Draco immediately faced their indignation.

"Why haven't you informed us about something like this?" Ron growled furiously.

"We're his family and friends. You could've firecalled any of us," Molly Weasley scolded. Not as loud as the others, but there was an obvious disappointment on her face. Honestly, was she really intending to make him feel sorry? Or even ashamed? What had she been expecting from him to be so disappointed in him now? He found it truly ridiculous. But outwardly he feigned a calm and innocent surprise on his face and pressed a hand against his chest dramatically.

"Oh, my... I apologise if at some point I looked like I gave a fuck about your friendship or family bonds, or if I suddenly looked like a bloody secretary to you. I'll do my best to avoid making any of these impressions again," he said sarcastically, but calmly, and just left to the kitchen where he'd been cooking dinner before their invasion.

"Bloody git..." Ron grumbled. He actually grumbled all the way upstairs to Harry's room and people around him now and again could hear about 'that bloody Cinderella' and that Harry had made 'the worst purchase in history'.

Harry wasn't really ready for any visits of such numbers of people. He was a little sleepy, but stoically listened to their concerns and sympathies, as well as answered their questions. And then, ignoring everyone, Draco brought him the tray with dinner and Harry livened up. The blond left immediately, followed by Harry's soft smile and "Thank you, Draco". Harry was always glad to eat anything and everything cooked by Draco, even if the blond wasn't quite perfect in it. Sometimes his cooking lacked a tiny bit of something, such as salt (of course, it wasn't a problem for Harry to add it himself), or, on the contrary, there was a tiny bit too much of something (salt or spices), or, from time to time, some ingredients weren't cooked enough or were slightly overcooked; but it was never unpalatable or tasteless. Harry didn't care and appreciatively ate and drank everything that those pale hands cooked or brewed for him.

He politely declined all the suggestions of Mrs Weasley and some other visitors to let them live with him for some time, so they could take care of him, assuring them that he wasn't this helpless and Draco was quite enough to take care of him. However, he didn't mind to let Mrs and Mr Weasley to take Albus and James for several days, as he knew that Draco was really tired of babysitting and doing a lot of other things at the same time. Harry himself wasn't nearly fit enough to take care of children now, though it saddened him and he even felt a little guilty that he couldn't pay them enough attention.

Some of his visitors tried to entertain him, telling him some news and just cheering him up, and he appreciated it greatly. It really made his mood better. But then they saw that he became sleepy again after eating his dinner, so they left; and they now knew that he wasn't abandoned, unattended, starved and so on, as they had previously thought, greatly concerned for him.

Draco sighed in relief as they had left, but his little boy was very upset that Albus had been taken away so suddenly together with his brother. Draco distracted his son from his 'misery' by teaching him some new and important things. Scorpius had always been eager to learn and always happy to spend time with his Papa, especially when the boy had all his attention. But then Draco noticed that his son wasn't as attentive as before and had become drowsy. He smiled and picked the sleepy child up to bring him upstairs and let him have a nap for some time. And then he returned to his chores.

When the supper was ready, but it still wasn't the right time to have it, Draco brought Harry all the post delivered today. It consisted of several letters, newspapers, the thick literary magazine, two sports magazines and the other magazine that Draco had never seen before, as it seemed to be some special edition for aurors and other people with related jobs (it looked like something educational and forensics seemed to be one of its main subjects).

He entered Harry's bedroom and was met with a soft smile. Potter looked like he'd just come out of the shower and he wore the new, clean set of pyjamas.

"How do you manage to run around on your broken leg?" Draco asked curiously and not quite kindly.

"I'm using my crutch and, well... just trying to keep all my weight on the other leg. But it's terribly exhausting, so 'running around' is an exaggeration of the year," Harry replied, the tired smile still on his face.

"There are cleaning charms, you know?"

"It's not the same, as you know."

"Perhaps, we should deprive you of your pain-relieving potion, so you could actually _**feel**_ that you put a lot of stress on your broken leg, anyway, and interfere with healing?" the blond frowned a little.

"Ouch..." the dark-haired man gasped dramatically. "I'm sure you're not that cruel," he grinned.

He thanked Draco for bringing the post and noticed that the blond was looking at the literary magazine with some interest. And he was right; Draco's mother had used to read this magazine and sometimes he'd read some issues, too.

"Would you like to read it?" Harry offered and gave him the thick magazine.

"I suppose," the blond nodded and took it.

He was actually reading it right here, in Potter's room, sitting in the comfortable armchair near the open window and enjoying some quite interesting stories and animated illustrations. Harry, meanwhile, read all the letters, addressed to him, and then opened one of the sports magazines.

"May I ask you something, Draco?" Potter suddenly said after about an hour of their silent reading. He sounded quite uncertain and Draco knew that it was going to be an uncomfortable question.

"As you wish," he answered, nevertheless.

"You may refuse to answer if you'll find it uncomfortable. I wanted to ask about Scorpius' second father. I just thought that maybe there's someone out there..." Harry said slowly and softly. The last several days of not really having anything better to do, Harry was tormented by the thoughts about that mysterious person, who was Scorpius' other parent, and, most of all, Harry wondered if Draco missed that person and wanted to see that man again. At the same time, he remembered that the family healer of Malfoys, for some reason, had concluded that Draco actually didn't know who the second father was.

"There's no one 'out there'," the blond almost interrupted, sounding a little harsh. "I'm the _**only**_ Scorpius' father. He's only mine, and he's always been. And if there's 'someone out there', someone, who had some little participation in letting me achieve my fatherhood, I hope they are about six feet under the ground, feeding worms."

"Merlin... Was it..." Harry gasped quietly. _'Rape?'_ he finished mentally.

"Yes, it was," Draco confirmed darkly. Throughout this short conversation Draco found it impossible to look back, a little afraid of what he might see in the eyes of the other young man.

"Sorry for my curiosity," Harry whispered, seeing a hint of mortification on the blonde's face. Draco didn't reply and, though Harry wanted to know what had really happened back then, he wouldn't ask anything else. If Draco wanted to tell him more, he would have done so. He hoped that the one who had done it to Draco had paid for it dearly. He felt a little ashamed for ever feeling jealous (and, Merlin knew, Harry _**had**_ felt jealous and had got himself worked up enough during the past several days).

~*O*~

Almost two weeks had passed rather uneventfully. Harry's healing leg now allowed him to walk without his crutch, though he was limping, and walking up and down the stairs was a challenge. He was still taking a mild pain-relieving potion that Draco had brewed for him, and it was quite enough to dull the pain effectively. Harry still had his sick leave and didn't actually mind, even if it was going to last for two more weeks. Although the bone had mended due to the healing, the trauma had been too serious to heal sooner. But it didn't stop him from flooing to the Burrow one day to celebrate his birthday with Weasleys and some other friends as he'd been invited to the party they'd organised for him. He finally found out who Ginny's lover was. Surprisingly, it was Michael Corner, one of her boyfriends from school. Harry and Ginny weren't quite friendly with each other even though they were already divorced, but Michael approached Harry to talk to him and to make sure there were no hard feelings between them. Harry assured him that there were none and that he was perfectly fine with his presence on his birthday party (really, he couldn't care less). It was a good day for him. Even Draco said his birthday greetings when Harry had come back home. The words were calm and somewhat restrained, but Harry saw that Draco's eyes were smiling, so it improved his already perfect mood.

Draco was relieved that Harry was now fit enough to cook, so the blond could finally stop doing it.

~*O*~

Meanwhile, it had been a little more than two months of his hard working now, and the lack of sleep was really turning him into a wreck, so he'd started thinking about quitting. The curse was displeased rather often, because sometimes he didn't have enough energy to do his chores. Of course, Harry's trauma had added Draco more chores.

His clients were as difficult as before. They demanded too much and didn't pay enough. After so much effort he still didn't have much money. At the same time, he was 'rewarded' with frequent headaches, so he knew he wouldn't be able to go on. The curse, his poorly paid job and his attempts to be a good father... It was too much.

One day he was so tired after all the housework and brewing potions that he didn't make it to his room and fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. He wouldn't be able to remember how he'd ended up lying down on it. When he half-woke in the morning, he found himself holding both his son (who had silently joined him on the sofa some time last night) and his child's toy Nessie in his arms. Potter had obviously decided not to disturb their sleep. It was definitely Harry who had covered both father and son with the blanket. Later this day Draco was silently weeping in the potions lab, because nothing had turned out the way he'd planned and because he was very tired and wanted to fall asleep for a month or two without waking up.

In the evening Harry found him sitting on the chair in the kitchen, most likely after putting his child to sleep and, supposedly, after finishing doing his chores for today. The blond didn't notice as Harry had entered, sitting with his back turned to the door. He was rubbing the back of his own neck and tried to massage his shoulders that looked like something heavy had been put onto them. Harry couldn't help but approach, trying to make some noise, not to startle Draco (with Harry's limping it wasn't really hard to make noise). The blond slightly turned his face to him, that was all he'd managed with his stiff and pained neck. The next moment he felt two warm hands on his shoulders. Harry didn't know how it had actually happened that he'd done something this bold, but he couldn't just look at Draco in pain. He started rubbing the sore muscles carefully. At first Draco was a little stunned, because all of it was unexpected, but very soon started relaxing and leaning into the touches. He mewled (to his slight shame) when, as the hands kept kneading him gently, both thumbs massaged the nape of his neck. Harry felt himself getting hard and tried his best to convince his body that it wasn't the best time.

"You're so tired..." he nearly whispered. He worked on the blonde's neck muscles for a few minutes and then returned to the shoulders and upper back, marvelling at how pliant, relaxed and warm he was making the other young man's body. He could see that the grey eyes closed serenely. Wasn't it a _**sign of trust**_? Draco's breathing was uneven, sometimes he sighed, which indicated both pain and contentment, as far as Harry could tell, and soon he could hear only the latter. Draco felt like he was melting and, at some point, feeling boneless, he leaned back, letting the back of his head rest against Harry's body for several short moments. Unfortunately for Harry, the blond quickly came to his senses, opened his eyes abruptly and moved forward a little, slightly flushed at his own actions. To avoid awkwardness, Harry started talking calmly, his hands never stopped rubbing and kneading.

"I'd like to give you a day off," he said.

"Do you remember what happened... the last time you tried to?" Draco murmured softly, closing his eyes again. About three weeks ago Harry had told him to have a day to rest and spend with his son, but the curse had disagreed. It had made Draco feel restless for not doing his daily work, but when he'd been tired of it and started doing his chores, it had hurt him for disobeying his Master. All that ridiculousness had forced Harry to cancel his order (or whatever it had been) and just let Draco work.

"Yes, but it works sometimes," Harry said. It had actually worked only two or three times during one full year and a few months (apart from when Draco had been hurt and Harry had had every right to let him rest and heal).

"Still..." Draco sighed. "I've been considering quitting my job... or, at least, taking a break."

"Good decision," Harry approved not only by his voice, but also through his touch. He was secretly very worried every time Draco left to deliver another order, especially after that incident with fanatics and their monstrous dogs that were a result of some experiment. And he saw how exhausted the blond was, so he, indeed, approved the decision to quit.

His fingers moved up and gently brushed the skin behind two delicate ears and then the fingertips massaged the back of Draco's head, enjoying the feeling of soft, silky hair against his skin. His own heart fluttered at what he was doing. It was thrilling and he secretly wondered if he was going too far and Draco would eventually snap at him, but, at the same time, he couldn't stop himself. However, he wasn't the only one who was enjoying it. If what Harry's hands had been doing before was very relaxing and relieved most of the pain, now Draco felt that it was starting to become... arousing. It felt like a long forgotten feeling, so long forgotten that it seemed... new... There was a pleasant tingling sensation on the back of his head and neck. It travelled a little lower and he knew there were goose pimples forming on his skin. He could feel them on his neck, shoulders, forearms and back.

"Better?" Harry whispered. Draco couldn't trust his voice right now, he could only nod. He wanted these fingers and palms to keep teasing his nerve endings, but was a little afraid to let it go too far, afraid to let out the moan that he was holding back right now.

"Thanks," he breathed and moved forward, indicating that Harry could stop now, even if Draco really wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. He stood up, still too dizzy and too melted to move steadily. He moved the chair back to the table and turned to Harry, who was standing closer than Draco had expected.

"I'm willing to try..." the dark-haired man said softly.

"Try... what?" Draco wasn't sure the words had even reached his mind; he didn't understand what Harry meant.

"Tomorrow... I'm willing to try to give you a day off," the other man explained.

"Oh... All right," Draco agreed. Their eyes met, but the eye contact was quickly broken, and then... No one would be able to tell who had initiated it, as their faces slowly moved closer to each other as if something was softly pulling them together. Their eyes closed, their hearts fluttered, lips parted, time stopped... It felt like the entire universe had come to a standstill as if afraid to interrupt them. Another moment and their warm, wet lips would be able to join... They already felt the slight, warm tickling of each other's breathing, ghosting across their lips, and they tilted their heads instinctively. It felt perfect, partly because they were about the same height. Just for a moment their lower lips touched. And then... Someone faltered.

No one would be able to tell who had initiated it, no one would be able to tell who had stopped it. The world started spinning again and time went on as before... Their breathing was a little ragged as they moved away from each other. Neither could look at the other. Well, if it wasn't the awkwardness, in its full sense, then what was? Several seconds later Draco managed to say that he should better go and even said "good night", though one had to have a very good ear to hear any of it, as it was very quiet and a little incoherent. Harry bade him good night in return, just as quietly and awkwardly. And when Draco left, the dark-haired young man buried his head in his hands. His heart threatened to give out from beating too fast and too hard.

The door of Draco's bathroom was locked. The water was filling the bathtub and the blonde's clothes were carelessly lying on the chair, which was untypical of him, as he usually folded it neatly. He was standing next to it completely naked, and with almost unblinking eyes he was looking down at himself, at his proud, slightly pulsing erection. He was fully aroused... He looked thoughtful and a tiny bit confused.

Draco had often thought that the brutal rape or, probably more likely, the subsequent pregnancy had made him impotent or just somewhat asexual, and he had resigned to it long ago, had accepted it. After all the pain that he'd endured during the birth of Scorpius, he hadn't even had a proper erection (some morning half-erections hardly counted). He'd even stopped touching himself, because he simply saw no point, since it didn't look necessary even as an act of self-soothing and relaxation, as he'd quite often done it with those purposes when he'd been younger. A couple of times he'd done something close to it during pregnancy, but then any urge had just gone. He couldn't tell whether it had been hormonal or psychological, and, frankly, he'd never tried to find out.

And all those Harry's touches had woken his body up. He could still feel the pleasant tingling on the back of his neck and head, which made his hair stand on end, because his skin and the roots of his hair still remembered Harry's fingers. He could also feel almost the same sweet tingling on his lips, the feeling that had left after the failed kiss, the kiss that hadn't happened. Draco didn't know what to make of that incident and wasn't ready to make anything of it right now.

He touched himself a little uncertainly and slowly started stroking his hardness, pressing his back against the wall for support. He closed his eyes and his hand sped up. Really, he didn't have to recall how to do it even if he hadn't done it for a long time. At the same time, he was still under the strong impression of Harry's touches... What if those hands, those fingers had travelled lower?.. What if they had touched his front?.. His nipples, his stomach, his lower stomach, and then his...

"Aaahh, Harry..." Draco was extremely sensitive right now, so he didn't last and barely had enough time to grab one of the towels, refusing to come all over the floor, and spent himself in it, gasping and moaning in pleasure and sliding down the wall just a little.

He had already been quite tired before his orgasm, so needless to say that he barely had any energy after that. He managed to take a bath, but later he wouldn't be able to remember how he'd made it to his bed as if he'd fallen asleep before even reaching it.

Meanwhile, in the other bedroom of the house Harry couldn't fall asleep with too many thoughts tormenting his mind, and none of them were coherent enough to put it all together.

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**A/N 2: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the part about Draco's naughty hands :P.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	14. Hurting With You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story. **

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**My dear reviewers:** Leto (Thank you!), makoslits (Thanks a lot! Enjoy :) ), Koiame (I'm so glad! Thank you so much for your support!), Viva Drarry (Haha! Thanks! ;) ), stixx17 (Okay, I'll try to explain:

Do you believe that several people can single-handedly just overthrow the government? Revolution often entails victims. Hermione has more careful methods, especially after the cruel experience. Do you expect them all to blame themselves every day of their lives? No, I don't want them like that. They do have lives and they'll keep having them. What of Hermione's initiative to save two people (I'm sure, there's much more), well, she does what she can, she's not a goddess and, God forbid, I'll never show her or anyone else as a "Mary Sue". Yes, they supported the bastard at some point, but they are not responsible for everything that happens. _**Of course, Hermione keeps doing her job**_, she works for some politician, as I've mentioned, but I don't show it to you, because this is a story about Harry and Draco and I only focus on them, mostly on Draco's life drama, unless it's really necessary to show someone else. I'm not going to bore everyone with Hermione's political fight. In the story I only mentioned that she's doing her job and she's stubborn enough, so... I think that was quite clear.

Sour people _**can**_ be good parents. I saw some in real life. Very often Draco isn't quite a pleasant person. Stop loving him, just for a moment, and look at him very carefully :). But he's a good father. Remember Narcissa from the books? Was she a pleasant person? No! She wasn't most of the time, but she loves Draco more than anything or anyone. Or people who have children are not allowed to hate someone or something? Since when? I've already explained everything I could about Ginny and I have nothing to add.

Returning to our trio, yes, Hermione is responsible for that disaster with elves, but nothing more. Why do you believe if they destroyed Voldemort they should keep saving worlds? They are just humans. They owe nothing to anyone. In this story I only intended to show Harry as Draco's personal hero, who loves him, not another experience of saving world. The world is big and it doesn't spin around them, it keeps living its own life, and Harry can't control it and keep being a hero for everyone. The war has taken too much from them and "once a hero, always a hero" doesn't look realistic to me. I believe that naivety and youthful maximalism are good for children and youths, not grown-ups they are now.

What of the other people, for them a bunch of convicted criminals, forced to serve the society for their crimes, doesn't mean much, and it doesn't look like their world is falling apart or something. Why would they object? In real life not many would object. I don't idealise human beings. After all, no one grabs people from the streets and turns them into slaves.

What makes you think that this situation is going to last for fifteen years? The plot hasn't gone this far yet. So why do you make such conclusions?

So, sorry, but I absolutely disagree with your critics and I'm sorry if it disappoints you. We just have different points of view :) Still, thanks for reviewing! :) ),

Wynne (I love snarky Draco, too :). Good point about them dancing around each other. I'm glad you like the society I portray. Thanks!), Prince Of Pariahs (So good to know! Thank you!), Lientjuhh (Thank you so much ;) !), pam (Thank you!), Belldandy 55555 (Oh, no, he's just working too much and have a child to look after. Other than that, his fine :). Thanks for reviewing!), goldentree (Thank you so much! Here it is :) !), K. N (Good to know! Thanks!), psycho path (Haha! Thank you :) ), Maureen (Thank you very much! I'm so flattered! To be honest, I've never intended to make such long chapters; I just don't know where to stop sometimes and I wouldn't want to leave any cliffhangers :). I'm so glad you like it! Today's chapter is just as long (or even longer), so, please, enjoy ;) ), Paola Dysson (Thank you! Yes, I'm planning to write Thorki. I've been planning it for quite a long time now, but I'm not sure I'll be able to start any new story before finishing the previous one (this one). I'm sure it would confuse me :). Thanks for thinking so highly of me!), Aquarinus (You spoil me as usual! Thank you for all your kind words. Not sure if I deserve them, but I'm glad you're enjoying reading my story so much!), domsijohn (Thanks so much! I enjoy writing their father-son relationship!).

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_**A/N: It's time for my yearly business trips. My idiot boss has finally seen reason, so I'm going to my ALL-TIME FAVOURITE travelling destinations which are UK and Norway! I'm ecstatic! Alas, it's just a business trip, but I hope I'll be able to find some time to see my favourite places of interest or something new that I haven't seen before. **_

_**Why am I telling you this? Oh, right... The thing is that when I leave home, my stubborn muse refuses to come with me. Some pathetic drafts are the best I can offer. It means that the next chapter will take some more time to write. I can't tell how much time it'll take, but I'll do my best to finish it soon. Don't worry, this story will not be abandoned, because it's stupid to write so many chapters and then just leave it. I don't like to waste my time and efforts like this, so it'll be okay, I promise ;).**_

_**I hope today's exceptionally long chapter will earn me your forgiveness.**_

_**In other news: I was forced to spend too much time outside during the last several days, and my brain is half-dead right now, so I've probably made more grammatical mistakes than usual. Aaaargh! I hate summers! I. HATE. SUMMERS! I hate even a soft summer heat, and this much sun is infuriating and makes me feel angry and stupid. My brain only functions its best when everything's covered with snow, and refreshing frost makes me happy and inspired. If it won't get any colder, the next chapter will be written in a fridge where I'll lock myself up. **_

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_**14. Hurting With You**_

~*O*~

Harry's plan worked, so he managed to give Draco the day off in the morning before the blond started doing any chores. Relieved (and too sleepy to feel any shame for what had happened yesterday), Draco returned to bed. Later Scorpius failed to wake him up, though he wasn't really insistent. Harry made breakfast and made sure Scorpius was well-fed and looked after while his Papa was sleeping. As much as Harry missed his own sons, he enjoyed the company of miniature Draco (because Scorpius resembled his father so much). Together they drew animals for some time and then played some table games meant for children.

His father slept until the very afternoon; however, unfortunately, it hadn't really given him enough rest all the same.

And then he went shopping together with Scorpius. There was no way to wait any longer, as his son's little feet were really starting to hurt, because his shoes were getting too small for him.

Draco managed to find the shop with the large choice of children's clothes, and, after about one hour of trying on different pieces of clothes, they bought three children's robes, three button down shirts (two satin and one silk; white, grey and dark-blue), two pairs of trousers (dark-grey and black), one sleeveless pullover, two turtleneck sweaters, two pyjama sets, the winter coat and the one appropriate for autumn or spring. They also bought the pointed hat with the buckle and two pairs of shoes; one pair for cold seasons, the other one for warm; the latter had buckles on their sides, and Scorpius seemed to like them a lot.

Draco bought everything a tiny bit bigger than necessary, because he didn't know when he would be able to afford any new clothes for his boy next time. Unfortunately, it left Draco himself without any new things, because, in the end, he only had some money left for some undergarments and socks for Scorpius and himself. And that was all he could afford. He had worked so much for this, but it turned out that it hadn't been nearly enough.

He could've found a cheaper shop, but he just couldn't allow himself buying any cheaper things for his only son... His boy was a Malfoy heir (even if there probably would be nothing to inherit in the end) and Draco couldn't let him wear any low-quality rags, the things he'd bought weren't quite expensive, as it was. It was just a combination of the average price and just as average quality; definitely worse than he would've bought if he had more money. Still, the new clothes looked fine.

Scorpius enjoyed the shopping, too, and did his best to stand still when Papa was dressing him up, trying clothes on him, even though the boy got bored in the end and his enthusiasm subsided a little.

The older blond did his best to look happy, but, in fact, he was very sad that he couldn't afford more. It made him feel like he wasn't good enough for his son. But he couldn't, _**just couldn't**_, do his job any longer; at least, for now. Constant exhaustion would inevitably lead to serious health problems, and Scorpius needed a healthy parent. His household chores (or the curse itself) often drained him of any extra energy to do anything else, probably except for taking care of his boy.

What tiny amount of money he had now, he spent for the big glass bottle of pumpkin juice (Scorpius loved it very much), some sweets and... the big, round loaf of white bread. When Scorpius asked where they were going, Draco smiled at him and told him that they were going to take a walk in the park and feed ducks in the lake. That was why he'd bought some bread. Scorpius livened up and smiled happily. Some time ago Albus had vividly told him how his Daddy and he had been feeding ducks, and Al had failed to count them, he simply didn't know such numbers yet, because there'd been so many of them, and Al had had a lot of fun, feeding them bread. Albus had looked impatient to tell Scorpius all the details, and he'd looked so overjoyed that the blond boy had almost regretted that he had refused to go with them (he still wasn't comfortable anywhere outside the house without his Papa). Draco had seen it all on his son's face and had promised himself to fulfil this little and, at first glance, insignificant wish. When it was about his son, nothing was insignificant. What was the better day for making this little wish come true than today when Harry had given Draco the day off?

Soon they were standing at the lake and throwing the small pieces of bread to the bunch of ducks, that were quacking contentedly, and fluffy little ducklings. Draco found this pastime quite relaxing and stress-relieving, so the sadness he'd felt before was almost gone as he saw his son enjoying himself.

But then the memory of what had happened last night between Harry and himself forced the remains of his sadness to the back of his mind, replacing it with... Shame? Awkwardness? He still had no coherent thoughts about it. _'Merlin, this is insane...' _Among all the other feelings there was a vexation, because the kiss hadn't happened. What would it have felt like? He'd fantasised about it before (mostly when he had been fifteen or so, which sometimes seemed like a lifetime ago, even if he was only twenty three now). Remembering that brief moment when Harry's lower lip had touched his own made him feel blessed and his chest tightened with longing. Had it been just an accident? He couldn't remember himself starting it, but he couldn't remember Harry making a first step, either. If it had been an accident, he definitely wanted another one like that to happen, next time more successful though. Could Draco initiate another 'accident'? No! _'Absolutely not!'_ How could he? He would be too obvious, and if Harry rejected him, Draco would get hurt. He knew that the other young man wouldn't laugh at him, but he could easily imagine Harry rejecting him softly, apologising and shaking his following years of awkwardness would be unbearable if Draco revealed his feelings, because they would have to face each other every day and... And...

It was Scorpius who pulled him out of his thoughts, frightening his Papa with the big, acid green caterpillar, giggling and trying to put the fat, disgusting, writhing creature on his shoulder as Draco was sitting on the bench. The boy then threw it away and pitied his parent, hugging him, cooing and apologising. Draco's scolding hadn't seemed to be even noticed. The older blond couldn't really be angry at his son, so he sighed in surrender and hugged him back. And then Scorpius asked some pumpkin juice, and Draco spent good five minutes, trying to uncork the big, heavy bottle. It would've taken a moment if he had his wand, but he was afraid he had already forgotten the feeling of it in his hand...

Despite everything, they'd really had a good time and after coming home and having lunch, both were sleepy.

Harry entered the dining room after doing some paperwork and saw that Draco and Scorpius had already come back and eaten their lunch. Draco was drinking tea and his boy was sitting on the chair, trying to fight the drowsiness. His eyes were closing inexorably and he forced them open every time. Still trying to keep his balance on the chair, he stooped forward, looking like a sleepy kitten. Harry smiled at the boy and nodded his silent greeting to Draco, not to disturb the child. Draco nodded back and stood up to clear the table. Harry shook his head, gesturing him that he would take care of it himself. The blond young man gave him a very small smile (rather with his eyes than lips) and carefully picked up his son, who immediately relaxed against him. The small hand weakly touched Draco's cheek. It was the main reason why he had used the potion that prevented facial hair from growing; since Scorpius had been a baby he'd been enjoying touching his Papa's smooth face. Such affectionate touches always made Draco melt. _'What am I going to do without it when you grow up?' _he smiled to himself sadly. The hand slid down slowly, as the boy was falling into a deep sleep.

He carefully changed the sleeping child into one of his new pyjama sets, put him into bed and closed the curtains not to let the sun bother his little one. At the same time, he left one of the windows fully open and the other one (the one closer to Scorpius' bed) slightly ajar. Only then Draco noticed how heavy his own eyelids were. He felt weak and only wanted to lie down, so he changed into pyjama and lay down into his own bed. He relaxed and sighed in relief. Sleep was definitely one of the best things in the world...

It was already eight-thirty in the evening when he woke up. He immediately thought that it was a pity to waste a day off like this, especially considering how rarely he was fortunate enough to have one, but he knew he needed to compensate for the lack of sleep (even now he was sure he hadn't compensated yet). When he turned on his other side, he saw that Scorpius wasn't in his bed. Most likely, he was downstairs with Harry.

When Draco finally found enough strength and determination to get up, he groggily went to take a lukewarm shower to clear his head and stir his body.

Scorpius, indeed, was downstairs with Harry. The boy looked excited, because he'd just been told that Al was going to come back tomorrow and they'd be able to spend the entire week together, since Harry was now rather fit to take care of his boys, so now he and Ginny could go back to their plan to take care of the children in turns. Just as before, one week the boys would be spending with their mother, the next one with their father, and so on.

Harry and Draco still couldn't make their eyes meet and it was bloody awkward. Each of them thought that it was best to behave like nothing had happened at all, but it wasn't nearly that easy in practice.

~*O*~

The next day Draco was mostly busy with his chores while Scorpius was playing together with Al, and Harry was trying to do his paperwork and look after all three children at the same time. But then Albus and Scorpius entered the kitchen and Draco's boy asked him a little bit unexpected question:

"Papa, Al asked where mother."

"I have no idea where his mother is," Draco shrugged, looking down at the children. _'And I definitely don't want to know'_ he added to himself. Really, hadn't the bint firecalled a couple of hours ago to see if her precious imps were doing well?

"No, he ask where _**my**_ mother," the little blond shook his head. Scorpius himself didn't really look interested in whatever answer he was going to get. He was asking just because Al was curious about it. For some reason, this fact made Draco feel warmth in his chest. His boy looked absolutely content having his one and only parent. Draco was perfectly enough for him.

"You don't have a mother, Scorpius," he replied.

"She dead?" Al asked curiously. It sounded terribly tactless, but he was very young, so it was forgivable so far. And still Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No, Albus Severus, she never existed. Scorpius was born from me and no woman was ever involved," Draco answered. His tone suggested that there wouldn't be any more information from him about it, so the green-eyed boy could take it any way he wanted. Al opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. He wasn't very informed about childbirth, he was only five, after all, but he'd always thought that one somehow needed a mother and a father to come into this world. That's what he'd been taught, so now he was even more curious and perplexed. He made a mental note to ask his own Daddy about it. Draco practically saw this decision on the boy's face and smiled to himself a bit venomously. _'Good luck, Potter. Try 'bees-and-flowers' talk,' _he chuckled to himself. Actually, Al decided not to wait as he wanted to find out everything immediately, so he went to the living room where Harry was still doing his loathsome paperwork.

Albus came back about ten minutes later and interrupted the talk that Draco had with his son; Scorpius had been telling him about the fairy tale that Harry had read them earlier this day.

"Daddy said let him fink. And then... And then he said you Scowpius' Mummy and Daddy. He said: both." It seemed that the lack of some more details confused him, but he still seemed to be satisfied with the information, taking it as it was. Draco didn't know what to think and wasn't sure he liked this rough explanation that Harry had given, but technically it was true, so he only shrugged.

This little episode was probably the reason of a smile (almost a covert one) he received from Harry later. There was a hint of teasing in it and Draco rolled his eyes. Actually, their eyes still were unable to meet and it was clear that this situation just _**had to**_ change one way or another, or to be completely and honestly ignored by both of them. The latter didn't look possible so far, but, perhaps, if it was given more time...

It seemed his work for this day was never going to end. He wondered if the curse was mocking him, or he was just doing his normal amount of work, but the day off he'd had yesterday was probably making him feel some kind of contrast. Albus and his brother were already asleep, but Scorpius refused to go to bed without his father, so he brought the small, but thick blanket into the kitchen, spread it out on the floor not far from Draco's feet and sat down on it with the book, full of fairy tales and pictures.

Harry entered the kitchen to have a cup of tea (and to spend some time near Draco). He noticed that Draco looked down at his son with a sigh, as Scorpius retrieved the dummy out of his pocket. Its mouth shield and the handle were made of blue plastic and it had obviously been made in the muggle world. Scorpius had had it with him since he'd been taken from the orphanage, where he, most likely, had taken possession of it. Scorpius rarely used this thing and normally he only used it when nobody saw. Of course, Draco knew about it and now that Harry was in Scorpius' 'circle of trust', the boy felt free to reveal his secret in front of him, too. And today it wasn't the first time Harry saw it.

"Darling, I thought we've already discussed that you're too big for a dummy," Draco said softly. He took it out of his son's hands, but only to wash it; he gave it back quickly, seeing that Scorpius had already started to get upset.

"No, Papa, mine," the boy shook his head. As if to avoid any further discussion, he quickly plugged his mouth up, looking like he was doing something very mature, then opened the book and started to read with the very serious and concentrated look on his face; at the same time the mouth shield and the handle of the dummy were moving up and down slightly, as the boy was sucking on it. Harry tried his best to hold back a chuckle; he found the scene absolutely adorable, even if it probably wasn't quite normal for a child, who would turn five in a few months, to still use a thing like this. Draco let out a sigh of surrender and just kissed the blond head of his son.

"Give me some more time, darling. I hope I'm going to finish my work within an hour or so, and then we'll have a bath with a lot bubbles and foam," he promised. Scorpius smiled around his dummy.

But for Draco it wasn't that simple to concentrate on his work, because his eyes covertly and disobediently kept turning to Harry's lips, now redder and seemingly fuller after a cup of hot tea. The look of them made Draco gently bit his own lower lip. When he realised that Harry had caught his glance, he did his best not to blush. _'Honestly, stop being a fool. How old are you to react like this?'_ he scolded himself. His heart disagreed and betrayed him as if deliberately sending more blood to his face.

"How's your leg?" he asked to distract Harry from whatever he might suddenly start thinking.

"Much better, thank you," Harry smiled, feeling almost happy, just like he was every time he got Draco's attention like this (or any scraps of his attention).

~*O*~

Several days later Harry returned to work and was happy to do something more interesting than paperwork, even though his colleagues made sure he wasn't overstraining himself and his leg.

It wasn't often that Draco took his son with him when he was going anywhere where they could see (and be seen by) a lot of people, but he was glad that Scorpius was starting to get used to being outside. When there were strangers around, the boy made sure he was holding his father's hand tight, and obviously felt a little uncomfortable. But other than that he seemed, more or less, calm. Draco himself didn't like to be among strangers at all, but he was worried that his boy was sometimes really afraid of most people and saw a threat in them (even when they just smiled at the adorable little boy, walking past him), so he tried to reduce his boy's fears as best as he could.

Today there weren't a lot of people around, because it was a weekday afternoon. Draco and Scorpius were unhurriedly shopping for food and some other things. It was actually Draco who had asked Harry if he could do it and take a walk with Scorpius at the same time, so it could also be considered as work by the curse.

They had already bought most of the things from the shopping list and were heading to the last shop to visit, walking down the peaceful alley where they could see no other passers-by so far. There were also no shops or any establishments here. As they were walking, Scorpius was holding Draco's hand and chirping out his answer at his Papa's question what he wanted to eat for lunch and what Gee-gee, his wooden toy winged horse that the boy was currently holding in his hand, 'would like to eat'. Enjoying their walk, conversation and cloudy, but warm, weather, they weren't noticing that they were being followed by two men that started to gradually shorten the distance between Malfoys and themselves. They knew it was the best time to start putting their plan into action, as they were in the deserted alley, where they hardly saw any other people at all.

Draco was suddenly aware that something was very wrong and the sound of his son's voice became distant and drowned by the feeling of uneasiness and danger. He frowned and sharpened his senses, trying to understand where the hell this feeling had come from. He started turning his face to look back, but he only had moments, which wasn't enough for him to react. The severe pain burnt his middle back and he immediately knew that he was hit by some curse. Gasping at the pain sharply, paralysed with it for a couple of seconds, he instinctively grabbed his son, picked him up and pressed him against his chest before he started running in spite of the pain. The small wooden toy pegasus fell out of the little hand on the cobblestone pavement and was left behind.

He couldn't allow himself to be stunned with shock right now that he had his son with him. He knew they were being attacked and he knew he couldn't fight back, so running away without looking back was his only option. The fear was pulsing in his ears; he could hardly breathe in panic and his heart had gone berserk in his chest. The small body of his boy was rigid and silent in his arms. Scorpius looked like he was afraid to move at all, but, at the same time, he was clinging onto his Papa tightly and desperately.

Draco managed to shove his hand into the pocket of his trousers to activate the portkey, given by Harry, the one that he always used to get to the one particular location in wizarding London and then back to Grimmauld Place. It was an actual key (though no one knew what exactly it unlocked), an antique one, made of silver; Harry had enchanted it for Draco and the blond had had it for quite a long time now. Now that it was activated by his touch, the second touch would transport him and his boy to safety... But, unfortunately, the second touch never happened, because Draco's arm and hand were hit by the same curse that had burnt the flesh on his back. It made him cry out. He was in so much pain that he failed to get the burnt hand into the pocket again. He couldn't move his fingers, and when he tried, the pain was so severe that tears ran down his face. Gods, it was an agony!

"Help! Somebody, please, help!" he yelled. Now it wasn't the best time for him to remember that it had never worked for him when he'd been in danger and cried for help. Usually no one could hear him for one reason or another. But maybe now... The pain that the next hit of the curse caused, burning the back of his thigh and knee, misted his vision, as well as his mind. When his thoughts had cleared a little, to his dismay he discovered that he wasn't running away any longer, because he just couldn't, and he found himself on his knees in front of the grey-green stone wall of one of the houses, facing it, just to trap Scorpius between this wall and himself to shield his little boy from all sides.

One of the attackers kicked Draco's side from behind. The pain made him cry out again, but he didn't stop protecting Scorpius, therefore, didn't change his position. His back was kicked several more times, and then he was hit in the back of his head so hard that he saw white flashes in front of his eyes. _'No, please... We've had enough tribulations for several lives. Please...'_ Another desperate attempt to get his hurt hand into the pocket, which contained the key to their salvation, failed when the same curse had hit the same arm once again; the attackers were very attentive as if they knew for sure where the portkey was (or probably they really knew it after following and watching him for some time). Draco shrieked and sobbed in pain. The curse hit his back once more, making him bellow, and he was sure the pain would kill him or drive him insane. One more kick on his side and another blow to his head followed immediately, without giving him a break. He was almost sure they were going to kill him.

"Please!.. Not in front of him... Don't... Don't let him see..." he begged, sobbing in pain and pressing Scorpius even harder against his body. The next kick to his side made him hear the unpleasant crunch of his ribs. He kept crying out and sobbing, blinded with pain.

The attackers didn't say anything at all. They didn't gloat, didn't let him know what, in their opinion, had he done to them to deserve all of it. One of them, or even both of them, kept hitting him with the same curse over and over again. And he had no doubt now that they were going to burn him alive. He couldn't see the damage, but, from what he felt, he could assume that his flesh was burnt deep, deeper than skin, and was probably even charred in some areas. It didn't feel like they were going to stop until they left only a badly burnt corpse... At first the beating was nowhere near as painful as these hexes, but he was being hit where he was burnt and that made it all much more unbearable. Draco knew he wouldn't be able to endure this acute, burning agony much longer. But imagining his little son becoming the victim to the same extreme brutality made him hold on to his consciousness desperately and keep protecting the boy at any cost. Maybe if he held on long enough, someone would hear him screaming and help them, so the attackers wouldn't be able to get to Scorpius and hurt him. But very soon he felt himself losing consciousness, no matter how hard he tried to prevent it from happening...

Scorpius was stiff and he was slightly shaking in his father's arms without making a sound. He wasn't sure what was really going on, too shocked to even react at his Papa's screams. But then the screaming quietened down and the boy felt his father's body relaxing. Finally, Draco was falling on his side with Scorpius still in his weakened arms. And that was when the shocked boy found out that he could actually move. He felt very confused, nonetheless. He managed to free himself from the weak, unconscious embrace and sit up. He looked at the body of his only parent, who was no longer moving at all, unresponsive and severely hurt. The body looked... lifeless.

The child's bloodcurdling scream violently tore apart the silence of the normally tranquil district. The scream was so loud and long, so full of pain, terror and rage, that many people were startled, even those, who weren't quite close to the source...

~*O*~

The day was moderately calm for Harry. His colleagues and he had found and arrested the prostitute that had been spiking the drinks of her clients with sleeping potions to rob them of all the money that they had with them. They'd also arrested the drunken man who had hexed his wife for taking his booze away from him. These were quite regular cases. It wasn't often that something really remarkable happened nowadays. In spite of Harry's occasional longing for some dangerous and exciting adventures, he was glad that nothing really threatened the world (except for the government and some of their atrocious laws).

He was sitting in his office and trifled with the white feather in his hands, having nothing better to do; even his paperwork had already been done. It was Hedwig's feather, some kind of a lucky charm to him, and he always had it with him when he left home. It always reminded him of his pet, the only pet he'd ever really bonded with. His languid pensiveness was interrupted when one of his colleagues entered, in fact, he almost broke into the office, without knocking. Realising it when it was too late, the young man, just as young as Harry, looked a little embarrassed. He was new here; he'd finished his training only two weeks ago and still didn't feel comfortable around much more experienced aurors. That included Harry, who, in spite of his young age, had finished his training in record time (his status of hero had helped, too, of course, because most tutors had favoured him, which he didn't like, but there was nothing he could had done about it). He'd made an excellent start and become one of the youngest aurors in the history, which was another reason for the other people to look up at him.

"Mister Potter, excuse me, but I've been told to inform you that something's happened to your sl... your charge. We've just found out from our colleagues from the other department. They received someone's firecall and... They are already there," the young auror babbled hurriedly. Harry felt his heart stuck somewhere in his throat, and he practically felt the way his blood rushed away from his face. His mind went blank for a couple of seconds. But the next moment he ran out of his office to find someone who knew what exactly had happened to Draco.

Harry tried to stay calm and professional as he'd arrived to the crime area. He let his eyes examine everything that was going on around him. For some reason, his eyes immediately spotted two men lying on the ground. Both of them had grey and very dry hair, their skin was also very dry, withered, greyish, as if covered with dust and some ashes, chapped and generally very unhealthy. At the same time, they didn't look like they'd got old and ill because of any natural reasons; one of them had one hand healthy and unwrinkled, as if it belonged to a young man; it looked totally out of place, attached to this strangely drained body. Not only the clothes of both men looked threadbare, but it also seemed like the fabric had been smouldering before. They were alive, judging by the behaviour of the healers that were treating them, but definitely unconscious. There was also a woman, currently examined by the other two healers. She looked like she was shocked, but conscious, nevertheless. Her entire right arm and the sleeve had gone through the same odd incident.

Everything around looked grey, dusty and lifeless, even the stones made this impression. The area of this strange damage wasn't really large, but it wasn't quite small, either. Harry was slowly approaching the epicentre of it, afraid of what he might see there. The air there was thicker and dustier. He was starting to get worried sick as he saw several aurors near some... barrier; and he could already see the familiar blond head, lying on the ground. He almost ran all the way to the barrier and saw Scorpius pressing himself against the badly hurt body of his unconscious Papa. They both were inside the light-grey, but transparent, cupola-shaped barrier. It wasn't as smooth as an actual cupola, it was warped and it pulsed unevenly. Draco was lying on his side. Harry couldn't see his face, as it was turned to the wall of the house; he also couldn't tell if the blond young man was alive. Scorpius head was pressed against his Papa's shoulder, the face turned away as well, but Harry could see the little boy shaking. He immediately tried to cast several diagnostic spells on Draco, but the barrier didn't let his magic in. One of the aurors from the other department approached him and confirmed that, indeed, no magic could go past the barrier. He also explained what had, most likely, happened: two men had attacked Draco and Scorpius, and, eventually, Scorpius' unintentional magic had exploded and damaged the assailants (those two 'dried' men) severely, draining them of their magic, health and a lot of fluids. Hearing the boy's screams earlier, several people had rushed to see what had happened. One woman had tried to approach the shocked child and help him, but his magic had damaged her as well (it was that same woman with the damaged arm, whom Harry had seen moments ago). No one could do anything. The barrier hurt people even when they were just standing in several meters away from it. Harry had seen Scorpius' magic doing similar things to the plants, and the girl from the orphanage had told him enough about it, but Harry was certain that it had never happened on such a scale before.

Harry quietly thanked the man for the explanations. He felt like he'd been waited here (once again his fame did something good to him, which wasn't often, and everyone knew that Draco was his slave).

He made a couple of steps closer to the barrier, but immediately stepped back, as he started to feel himself weakening slowly. His mouth, throat and skin felt slightly dry, so he decided not to tempt fate, especially given that he felt how unstable the emission of this baneful magic was. He could physically feel it in slight waves that clearly meant to keep everyone away. Everything around seemed almost colourless, even the robes of the aurors. Wasting no time, Harry concentrated on the barrier. He scanned it with several spells. It looked like a defending barrier, but could definitely be fatal for anyone who was unwise enough to try to get through it, except for those who were already inside. Scorpius' magic had created it, but Harry could detect something that definitely couldn't belong to Scorpius or Draco. He remembered the attackers; they had been drained of their magic and their energy: both mental and physical (it was a surprise that life had not abandoned their dry bodies yet). The barrier around Scorpius consisted of all that energy, albeit distorted and unhealthy, as well as the boy's own uncontrollable magic. He would've found it very interesting to study if the circumstances were different. Now it was only Draco he cared about, and Scorpius, of course.

Someone suggested to use Imperius to make the child lower the barrier (The Unforgivables couldn't be shielded, could they?), but Harry talked them out of it. Fortunately, even those who were from the other department decided to leave it all to him. It was probably his demeanour that had convinced him that he was in charge here. They moved away a little, ready to help any moment. They murmured suggestions, but Harry couldn't hear them. Instead, he focused on Scorpius, since this tiny boy was the key to this situation. Harry tried not to look at Draco right now, tried not to pay attention to the blood that could clearly be seen on his fair hair; tried not to think why he couldn't see him moving or breathing.

"Scorpius, can you hear me?" he asked softly, as softly as the distance allowed him, so the child could hear him anyway. The boy kept shaking and didn't react. Harry couldn't decide if it was the shock or the barrier also blocked all possible sounds from the outside. But he wasn't going to give up anyway.

Scorpius felt really shaken up, but he knew he was protected by... 'something'. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that it was going to keep him and his Papa safe. Strangers only caused pain, so he wanted to stay with his Papa, just two of them, together in this small space, surrounded by that 'something'. They didn't need anything or anyone else at all. All strangers wanted to hurt and separate them. Back in the orphanage they'd told him that he was evil, that he could hurt people. He didn't know how, but, apparently, he could do all those things. Everyone made Papa cry. He'd show them! Anyone who dared to approach them was going to be really, really hurt! Some woman earlier had pretended to be kind and eager to help; but he knew she'd just wanted to gain his trust and hurt him or Papa, and she'd paid for it dearly. He'd hurt her first and he'd hurt her enough to keep her away; and he would hurt everybody who currently tried to approach. After all, he was Satan; the older children in the orphanage had certainly called him that for a reason, hadn't they? A couple of times they had been beating this knowledge into him; literally. And now a good deal of pain was waiting for anyone who tried to come closer. He knew that strangers were there. Why couldn't they just leave him and Papa alone? Through the veil of his shock he could hear them and even feel them trying to touch 'something', to examine it, but he felt safe here with his parent.

"Scorpius. Hey... Look at me, boy. Come on. It's me, Harry. Can you hear me?" Harry kept trying. It took some more time and some more soft words to make the boy react. And then Scorpius raised his head from his father's shoulder and looked in Harry's direction. His small, ashen-pale face was almost blank and it showed only one emotion - the desire to be left alone. Harry, however, didn't stop talking softly, feeling that Scorpius wasn't even recognising him right now; he looked disoriented. Several more minutes later the boy, finally, realised who was talking to him, but he wasn't sure if it made any difference. He'd trusted Mister Potter before, he was Al's father, after all, but now he couldn't be sure of anything at all. Eventually, the boy sat up and was looking at Harry slightly warily, but, mostly, indifferently. Harry was fine even with this little progress. He had to establish a contact with this little boy; it was the only way to solve the problem peacefully. Any radical magical interference would hurt Scorpius, at the very least, mentally. Harry wasn't about to let it happen.

"It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of anymore," he assured. But he immediately felt that Scorpius didn't react to these words well. The pernicious waves of magic became a little stormier and Harry was forced to make another step back. But then he kneeled to look less intimidating (in case Scorpius really thought he was in any way intimidating now that the boy was shocked).

"Okay... Could you, please, try to let me in? Could you do that for me?" he tried again. Scorpius was looking down and there was no reaction. "Your Papa needs help. He needs a healer," Harry continued gently. The boy slightly shook his head in disagreement without looking up. "He does. He needs help. He might get worse if you don't let someone help him," Harry felt like a moron now. He didn't want to sound frightening and threatening (in fact he sounded soft, but he wasn't happy about his own choice of words). He had to do something, anything to make Scorpius let him in. Harry bit his lip thoughtfully, trying to find a way to explain the little boy that said boy was unknowingly holding his father hostage. "Look... You know I'm not going to hurt him, don't you? You know me. You know I wouldn't hurt either of you. Could you just let me in, so I can examine him?" And, again, no reaction. "Please, let me in. Just me alone, I promise."

"I can't..." Scorpius finally mouthed, but Harry saw it, regardless. "How?" the boy whispered. Oh, yes, another problem. How Harry could explain it? It was an unintentional magic, therefore, it couldn't be controlled; and even if it could be controlled, Scorpius was too little to be able to do anything about it and to even have a slightest idea how it worked. All Harry could do was somehow convince Scorpius to stop being scared and overprotective. Easier said than done... Once again Harry forced himself not to look at Draco, even though his anxious heart was bleeding right now and he was feeling a cold weight in his stomach.

"Just... Just try to relax and I'll try to move closer. I know you don't want to hurt me. I know... I'm going to take both of you home: you and your Papa. Al's going to be so glad to see you. He misses you," he said. But even these words didn't work. Nothing was changing.

"Can't..." Scorpius whispered again. Harry had to read his lips almost every time the boy said something, because it was too quiet for him to hear from such a distance.

"Okay... Then could you do something for me? Put your fingers on your Papa's neck like this." On his own neck Harry showed where the pulse was most palpable. He made sure Scorpius saw it. The boy actually complied and put his little hand on his father's neck (slightly covered with blood). "A little closer to his chin," Harry guided. "Good... Now put your other hand on his wrist. Here, look at me... Just like this... Okay, now close your eyes, try to relax and tell me if you can feel anything against your fingers. Pulsation. Can you feel it? Take your time..." Harry knew he was getting desperate, but he needed to know if Draco was alive. He also hoped that it would distract Scorpius and make him lower his emotional barriers and, as a result, probably, the magical one, too.

"I don't know..." Scorpius whimpered. The child was too shaken up and he was shivering all over, so no wonder he couldn't feel anything. Harry, with all his heart, hoped that it was, indeed, the case, not an actual absence of signs of life. The boy hardly understood what it all meant, especially in his current state, but he was outwardly starting to look very upset, which could entail even more deplorable consequences.

"It's all right, don't be afraid. Now could you press your cheek to his face? But not too hard. Let his nose touch your cheek slightly," Harry told him. Once again the boy complied, but very uncertainly. "That's right. Can you feel him breathing? It should be warm against your cheek. Can you feel it?"

"I don't know..." Scorpius shook his head, already starting to weep. "Go away..." he whimpered. He was just sitting there on the ground, looking scared and very distressed. Harry bit his lip again. The potential decision came to him suddenly, and he knew he couldn't waste any more time. If he'd failed to make Scorpius trust him right now, there was only one person that could possibly reach out to him; and that person was one of Harry's own sons.

"Very well. But I'll be right back, Scorp, okay?" he replied, knowing that there was no point in waiting for an answer, so he left, asking everyone else to stay away and not to try anything. He apparated to the Burrow and practically ran into the house. Promising Molly and Ginny that he would explain everything later, he took Al in his arms and apparated back to where Al's little friend was scared and alone. He was going to explain Albus some things, so his son wouldn't get scared, too, because, frankly, the place didn't look like any child belonged here, even if the incident itself had been created by the child. But before he could talk to Al, he was distracted by some auror who said that they'd found out who had attacked Draco and Scorpius. Harry insisted that they should talk about it later, because there were more important things to attend to right now. He could swear he'd got distracted just for a moment, but when he looked down, he saw that Albus wasn't standing next to him any longer. Instead, the little boy, oblivious of what was going on, was running to his friend, as he'd obviously spotted him sitting on the ground not really far away.

"No, Al, stop right now! Don't!" Harry yelled. He ran after his son and nearly had a heart attack and fainted as he saw his child running past the intimidating barrier. Harry thought it was the end... He closed his eyes and was afraid to open them again. But then he heard his son saying something and immediately opened his eyes just to see Albus... unharmed, standing near Scorpius. Harry sighed in relief, slightly shocked now, so he needed a minute to calm down. Then he came closer, as close as this harmful magic allowed him, because, it seemed, only Albus could go inside without being hurt or killed. Harry definitely wasn't allowed to do the same thing, and for him even trying would've been suicidal.

"Scowpius... Why you crying? Why your Daddy on ground?" Albus asked gently. He sat down right in front of his blond friend. He didn't understand what was going on, other than that Draco and Scorpius were somehow hurt, but a minute or so later he just hugged crying and shaking Scorpius, who couldn't answer anything coherent. How could he answer? How could he explain? He was just a tiny boy, who was crying his heart out, grief-stricken and hurt.

At first Harry was looking at the children incredulously, still finding it hard to believe that Al had just entered Scorpius' little sanctuary, just like that, without any difficulties, but then he was starting to watch them very attentively. He knew that intentionally Scorpius would never hurt Draco or Al, or probably anybody at all, but the blond boy was very stressed, so there was no guarantee that his magic wouldn't turn against those who weren't a threat. Harry felt uneasy, remembering what had happened to Ariana Dumbledore, professor Dumbledore's sister, who had been so traumatised when she'd been a child that her magic had become unstable and, eventually, it had all but exploded, due to the stress, and killed her own mother. It was a horrifying tragedy that had ruined the girl's very short life. And if anything like that happened to Scorpius after so much woe that he'd already endured, which no child should ever experience, what would happen to him? Harry was carefully looking at Al to make sure the uncontrollable magic wasn't hurting him in any way. He couldn't see any discomfort so far, even though, like everything else here, his boy looked almost colourless.

About twenty minutes had passed. Al was still trying to make his friend talk, but Scorpius only sobbed pitifully.

"You cold," Albus said as he'd taken Scorpius hand in his. One of the aurors, who'd heard it, gave the dark-blue coat to Harry, who stood closer than anyone else.

"Here, take this," Harry said, throwing the coat to them, so they could wrap themselves in it; it wasn't good that they both were sitting right on the cobblestone pavement. But, to Harry's awe and amazement (and some terror, too), the coat, once it had entered the barrier, decayed almost instantly and turned into dark dust and ash, though it hadn't gone through any burning. This cloud of ash just flew past the boys, making them shut their eyes tight for several moments as it brushed their small bodies and faces before scattering in the air. Albus looked a little more confused after that, and Scorpius just kept crying, albeit quieter now. One of the aurors behind Harry emitted an incredulous whistle at what had just happened.

Harry forced himself to be calm and patient. _'Draco, please, hold on...'_ And then, minutes later, he saw that Scorpius started to whisper something to Al. The blond boy was sill hiccupping and tears were still streaming down his face, but he looked more coherent now. Two boys were whispering something to each other, but Harry couldn't hear them.

"Daddy, Scowpius want strangers go away. He say they want take his Daddy away. Tell them get out. They scare him," Albus finally said.

It didn't take long for Harry to do what was told and ask the other aurors and all the gawkers to move as far away as possible, so Scorpius wouldn't be able to see them at all. Some didn't take it too well, but no one really argued. And when he returned to the barrier, he saw how tired Scorpius looked now. He was still weeping, though.

"Let's go home, Scowpius. I want play and sweets," Al whined. Harry almost smiled at this, wondering if there was any situation when his boy wasn't thinking about sweets. But right now the dark-haired man was a bit overwhelmed and too concerned about Draco to be anywhere near being cheerful.

"Go..." Scorpius sighed.

"I want go wif you," Albus insisted.

"Can't..." the blond boy whimpered. But Harry started to notice that the barrier had already become thinner and the waves of magic could hardly be felt where he was standing.

"We get up and go," Al shrugged impatiently, as he didn't realise what kept his friend from leaving this place.

"Papa hurted," Scorpius wailed quietly.

"Please, let me help him," Harry tried again. "We'll go home; just four of us. We're going to be safe, I promise. Okay? Scorpius..."

"Okay..." the blond child mouthed with his pale, trembling lips. The barrier was becoming even thinner. Gradually it was becoming less and less visible and almost dissolved when Scorpius had got up with effort, looking lost and unsteady.

"Come here..." Harry whispered and kneeled. Scorpius approached him hesitantly and Harry wrapped his arms around the little boy. Finally, Harry could control something, because now that nothing was blocking his magic, he could help. And he knew what to do; he'd been taught to deal with things like this, after all, it had been a part of his auror training. He was rubbing Scorpius' back, sometimes making soothing noises, as the child was crying and calling his Papa, but, at the same time, Harry cast the long, non-verbal spell that allowed him to pacify and slowly and softly ground the little boy's magic. If what he was doing was possible to compare with something physical, it would've looked akin to reducing some painful inflammation.

Several minutes later Scorpius' magic was calm, thanks to Harry, but emotionally he wasn't nearly as calm. His body was shaking in the man's arms and to Harry the boy seemed even smaller now. Meanwhile, as he kept holding the child, he was able to cast several diagnostic spells on Draco. His magic could easily go through the torn, hardly visible remains of the barrier, which meant it was safe to approach the older blond. Diagnostic spells indicated that Draco was alive, even though his pulse wasn't really strong. _'Thank Merlin! Oh, love...'_ However, Harry also found out that a couple of Draco's ribs were damaged (but not really broken) and he had a head trauma, a concussion, quite possibly, and several haematomas, including the big one on the side of his head. The skin on his back, on the back of his thighs, arms and neck was overheated, for some reason. Harry couldn't tell why, and his diagnostic spells failed to identify the curse or whatever it was that had created this kind of reaction. It was Draco's head that made Harry worry the most. The skin on back of the blond head was injured and it was bleeding slightly, but, fortunately, only the skin was damaged; however, there still was damage inside, and Harry couldn't tell if it was fraught with serious consequences, even if the trauma didn't seem very serious now.

Very carefully Harry apparated all four of them to Grimmauld Place and immediately placed the unconscious body of his beloved on the bed in his room, leaving Al to look after shaking and crying Scorpius in the nursery. Getting a healer was the next thing to do, which Harry did without delay. For some reason, he'd made a spontaneous decision to firecall Heliodorus Corundum, who was a family healer of Malfoys and, as Harry was positive, still remained very loyal to them. The healer flooed in immediately, once Harry had told him that Draco needed help. The man hadn't changed at all since the last time Harry had seen him to discuss Scorpius, a little less than a year ago. Somehow, Harry felt that he could relax a little, because his love was in capable hands now. But he was still there in case the mediwizard needed him, even though he wasn't sure he'd be very useful in that case, since he was failing to stop his hands from shaking nervously.

Draco was cleaned up and thoroughly examined. The healer confirmed the results of Harry's own diagnostic spells, though Corundum saw much more specific details of the damage (he wasn't a healer for nothing, was he?). The mediwizard was more informative after performing the most urgent healing spells, required by the situation.

"And what about his skin? It looks so inflamed," Harry said quietly, looking at the blond, lying on his stomach on the bed, still unconscious and stripped down to his undergarment, so Harry could see most outer damage, which were the marks of beating that, most likely, would soon turn into rather severe bruises, and aforementioned overheated skin on the back of Draco's body. It was pink and in some areas looked a little redder with red capillary nets slightly visible through the skin. Draco's right hand and forearm looked especially painful.

"Mister Malfoy was repeatedly hit with quite a nasty hex. It burns flesh, but the physical damage is not nearly as terrible as the pain that a victim feels. Similar to Cruciatus, it's much more about tactile sensations than an actual harm. It means it's going to heal rather soon and he needs nothing more than cold healing ointments to treat light burns caused by hot water or hot steam," the healer explained.

"I see. What about the other damage?"

"Mister Malfoy's cracked and bruised ribs won't take too long to heal, as well as the bruised lung. The concussion worries me the most, but I'm sure there's nothing too serious. The bruises will become much larger and more prominent by tomorrow, but it's the least thing to be concerned about."

"And... How concerned should we be?" Harry asked carefully. He wanted to be absolutely sure that Draco was going to be all right. He wanted to be convinced that his love wasn't in any danger now.

"With the right treatment he'll be fine in about a week, but he'll possibly have headaches for a little bit longer."

The healer applied the nacreous white salve on Draco's burns, then used quite a generous amount of some other ointment on the area of the blonde's cracked ribs and bruised lung. Soon Draco's chest was tightly bandaged. With the help of a spell the mediwizard made his unconscious patient swallow a full tablespoon of some khaki-green, turbid infusion, which smelled like clove. When the other potion was administered the same way, Harry helped the healer to put Draco's pyjamas on him. He saw Draco slightly shifting, but the blond didn't wake up. They let him rest, leaving him lying on his stomach, because his front hadn't taken any damage to aggravate. Now it was time to find out how Scorpius was.

Shaking and sobbing quietly, the boy was sitting on the floor. Al was angry at him for not talking to him, for being... like this. He couldn't understand how terribly his blond friend was hurt and where exactly he was hurting, and Scorpius did nothing to let him understand, as if keeping it secret from him. So Albus was pouting, sitting in the armchair and sometimes casting angry and upset glances at his inconsolably sobbing friend. When Harry and the healer entered the room, Scorpius saw them and only shrivelled up a little bit more, resigning to his inevitable fate, which included being taken away, forever; to hell maybe (a place of which he knew very little, but quite enough to know that it was the end of him and that he belonged there), or back to the orphanage to be lonely and bullied again. Well, they'd told him he wouldn't end well...

Harry knew that the boy couldn't possibly remember their family healer who had helped him to come into this world and then visited a few times when Scorpius had been very little, so Corundum was a stranger, and Scorpius considered him dangerous. Harry slowly approached the boy and picked him up.

"Don't be afraid. This is a healer, your family healer. He's only here to make sure you are not hurt. Will you let him examine you? I'll be here with you," Harry promised. Scorpius didn't react well and even tried to wriggle out of his arms weakly. Harry imagined that right now, albeit subdued, the boy's magic wouldn't react well even on diagnostic spells, though another disaster surely wouldn't happen; he'd taken care of it. Harry was biting his lip thoughtfully. He tried more soothing words, but he saw the healer shaking his head negatively, but calmly, so Harry stopped insisting. He understood what the mediwizard didn't say out loud. Scorpius was very exhausted after such a powerful emission of his magic. He was already very weak and sleepy, so, in order to not cause him any additional distress, it was wiser to let him fall asleep first, and only then let the healer examine him. As the mediwizard saw understanding on Harry's face, he left the room, so Scorpius wouldn't see him. The man headed back to Draco's room to see what else he could do for his patient while his little son was being tried to calm down.

Harry went to Al's room, accompanied by Al himself, with Scorpius in his arms. Soon he was rocking the blond child, soothing him gently. He asked his son to close all the curtains, which Al did and sat down on a chair, but he kept looking at his Daddy and Scorpius without making a noise.

After some time, the small body in Harry's arms, wrapped up in a blanket, started to relax and go limp little by little, and then the spasmodic breathing was starting to become even and Scorpius' heavy eyelids were closing inexorably. The blanket was light, not to let the boy feel any excessive heat. It was rather meant to make him feel safe inside the cocoon that it created. Several times, on the verge of falling asleep, the little body flinched, but then it stopped and Harry sighed in relief, still rocking the child slightly. When he was sure that Scorpius was sleeping soundly, he wiped his wet pink cheeks with a handkerchief, carefully changed the child into pyjamas, put him into Al's bed and went to call the healer.

The mediwizard examined the sleeping boy and assured that Scorpius wasn't physically hurt (except for extreme exhaustion), and his magic was calm, so it was very unlikely that it was going to lash out any time soon even if Scorpius would be scared or upset. Harry once again sighed in relief, though he was certain he probably needed a Calming Draught or something like that right now.

As the mediwizard had left after promising to visit soon, concerned Molly flooed in and found out what had happened (the short version of it); she wanted to take Al back to the Burrow to his younger brother until the next day, but Al refused to leave. "Daddy say fwends help eachofa," he told her. He wasn't angry with Scorpius any longer. Molly smiled proudly at her grandson and left without him.

The next morning Draco and Scorpius were still both asleep, but the healer, who had visited once again very early in the morning, warned that Scorpius had exhausted himself so much that he would be sleeping for quite a long time and Harry shouldn't be worried about it. What of Draco, the mediwizard expected him to wake up any moment. Harry had managed to sleep for about three hours after the healer's visit, because he hadn't slept last night at all; his mind was too burdened with concern. And when he woke up, he immediately headed to Al's room. As he entered silently, he saw that both little boys were sleeping just the way he'd left them; Scorpius was sleeping near the wall, facing it, and Al was lying almost on the edge of the bed, his face turned to the door. Harry touched his son's unruly hair fondly and then touched Scorpius' forehead. The blond boy slept just as peacefully as Albus, and Harry let them be, leaving the way he had entered - silently.

Draco was sleeping as well, and Harry only noticed that some time in the morning the blond had half turned from his prone position onto his left side, since turning onto his right one would've caused him a good deal of pain even in his sleep because of his hurt ribs and lung. Harry approached him and kneeled at the bed, their faces were separated by mere centimetres. He was looking at the other young man's relaxed features and at the bruise on the side of this beautiful face. The bruise covered Draco's cheekbone and temple and made his eyelid look slightly deformed and swollen. Harry carefully caressed it with his fingertips, willing this bruise and all the other damage to heal soon. After that he was just looking at his love for several more minutes, enjoying the serenity of the moment, his mind cleared of thoughts and all the tension. And then he reluctantly left Draco's side to take a shower, make breakfast and several firecalls.

Draco's blurry dreams were full of him burning alive; at first he was just licked by the tongues of the white flames, and then he was enveloped in the fire entirely. His flesh was burning, and burning, and burning... He woke up with the hazy feeling of dread, though he wasn't sure he'd woken up yet. His heart was beating fast, he desperately tried to move, but his body felt heavy; his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his limbs felt as if they were leaden. As soon as some control had returned to his body, Draco panicked. He didn't know what was going on, where he was and he still couldn't think, but he felt a strong urge to run and hide. Unfortunately, his body was weak and very sore, so it wasn't easy to even get up, but then he remembered his son, and the chaotic memories of the attack flooded his mind. Once he'd got out of the bed and rushed to the door (he wasn't sure where he was going), his legs gave out immediately and he collapsed, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The agony pierced the right side of his chest.

Harry wasn't far away from Draco's room when the spell that he'd placed on the blonde's bed earlier, alerted him that Draco had woken up. Harry quickly headed to him to make sure he was all right. He wasn't. Harry realised it as soon as he'd entered the room. Draco was getting up off the floor with a great effort, looking terribly disoriented.

"It's all right. You should lie down," Harry said gently. Draco looked very wary, despite haziness, and it was probably not the best idea to approach him right now, so Harry tried to calm him down verbally at first. It wasn't working. Draco was moving to the door stubbornly though it obviously was very difficult and painful for him to walk. He ended up falling on his knees right in front of Harry, who immediately supported him under his armpits. At first there were incoherent words of panic and gasps for breath, but soon Draco was hyperventilating and the tears started to roll down his face.

"Scorp is okay! He's okay. You're both safe," Harry promised again and again to stop the panic. "He's sleeping in Al's room. Al is looking after him. Scorpius wasn't hurt." _'Wasn't hurt physically...'_ he added to himself. He felt Draco calming down and saw some clarity in his eyes. "Okay... You have a concussion, so you have to lie down. Let me help you." Harry thought he saw a small nod. Carefully, he led Draco back to the bed, making sure he wasn't hurting him in the process, and helped him to lie down on his left side. Draco moaned, feeling as if the room was spinning around and his head hurt so much he wanted to vomit.

"Rest," Harry said softly. "I'll firecall your healer, then we'll talk, when you feel like it, and I'll bring Scorpius here if you want. Okay?"

"Fine..." Draco whispered and closed his eyes. He felt a reassuring hand touching his shoulder gently and then this hand retreated. Draco heard the withdrawing footsteps and finally the soft sound of the closing door.

Draco was a bit surprised to see his family healer again, though he was hardly in the mood for pleasantries. The mediwizard examined him, gave him a few potions and applied some cold salve on his burns, which immediately helped to soothe his skin. To Draco's relief the burns weren't nearly as severe as he'd expected; he'd been sure his body was charred.

The man left after telling Draco to stay in bed. Not that Draco minded.

He napped for a few hours and when he opened his eyes, he saw Harry sitting at his bed. The dark-haired man was looking back at him softly.

"What happened?" Draco asked quietly. Harry was silent and thoughtful for several seconds, but then he sighed and told him everything that had happened after the blond had lost consciousness from all the pain and damage. The dark-haired man told the whole truth about Scorpius' uncontrollable emission of magic, and how Al and Harry had managed to end the disaster. When he finished talking, Draco said nothing, wandering deep in his thoughts. Harry waited patiently at first, but then decided to give the blond some more information.

"I think I've mentioned that when we found Scorpius in that muggle orphanage, the woman responsible for Scorpius' disappearance was arrested. Those two who attacked you yesterday were her sons. They are in Saint Mungo's now. From what they've been trying to say in their condition... Well, they assert that they weren't going to hurt Scorpius; just you. And they swear they weren't going to kill you. The idiots blame you for getting their mother imprisoned. Anyway... They are not going to die, that's for sure. And maybe healers will be able to help them to recover, to some extent, not fully, as I was told. In that case they'll be arrested and jailed," he explained. Draco nodded thoughtfully, but then his eyes met Harry's.

"Are you going to arrest everyone who hurts me?.." he asked curiously, but tiredly, at the same time. A very weak smile appeared on his face.

"Yes. Every single person," Harry replied seriously, but, suddenly, the realisation hit him and his eyes widened as he was looking at the blond with surprise. "Wait... You know?" he gasped. Draco was calm. He shrugged slightly.

"You and your ex-wife argued too loud and she collected papers," he slurred. "A few days before she left you, you two were especially loud and informative."

"Right..." Harry lowered his eyes. "Are you angry? You're not about to raise hell, are you?" He tried his best to hold back a smile.

"I don't know yet," Draco answered with another small smile of his own. The smile gradually turned melancholic and then it all but disappeared without a trace. He couldn't stop thinking how his son would cope with what had happened to them, and how much it had traumatised him. Had it scarred him for life? What consequences Draco should expect now? Was all the work to make his boy's life normal futile now, after such an ordeal? Had they made a huge step back? How huge?

"Do you want me to bring Scorpius here?" Harry asked suddenly, and Draco flinched, wondering if Harry had managed to read his mind merely by the look of his face.

"Yes..." he replied uncertainly. He wanted Scorpius to sleep as long as he needed without disturbing him, and he wasn't sure he wanted his son to see him like this, with all his bruises and such, but he _**needed**_ him right now, wanted to make sure his son was unharmed, at least, physically, even though he knew that Harry wouldn't lie about it. Harry nodded and left.

He was surprised that Al was keeping his promise and wasn't disturbing the blond boy's sleep. He was quietly playing in his room while his friend was sleeping peacefully, just as he'd promised his Daddy. The only thing he'd done was surrounding sleeping Scorpius with a lot of stuffed toys. Harry wondered if they meant to guard Scorpius' sleep or just to keep him company. He didn't ask his son, just smiled at him before carefully picking Scorpius up off the bed. The small body shifted a little and the boy sighed, half-opening his drowsy eyes.

"Shh... Go back to sleep," Harry whispered, rocking him gently. Scorpius closed his eyes again and quickly dropped off. Harry carried him to Draco's room, shushing Al's protests. When he entered, he saw that Draco seemed to had dozed off lightly. But, as Harry approached the bed, the eyes of the older Malfoy opened slightly and then opened fully when he saw his sleeping son in Harry's arms. The dark-haired man put the child next to his father. Draco gently traced his fingertips over the side of his son's face.

"Do you need anything?" Harry whispered. Draco shook his head negatively without looking away from his son's face.

"I see the roles have reversed. Just when your leg has healed..." Draco mumbled quietly.

"Don't worry, you're going to be okay soon. Sleep some more," Harry suggested softly. It was pretty tempting, and Draco closed his tired eyes. He wanted to sleep off his headache and the nausea he was feeling, not to mention the other unpleasant things, albeit eased by the pain-relieving potion; but, in spite of it, it was still tricky to find a comfortable position and still painful to even take deep breaths. _'Oh, right... I heard the crack of my ribs when that bastard kicked my side...' _With this unhappy thought Draco slipped into slumber.

He didn't know for how long he had been sleeping, but his son's touch woke him up. He opened his eyes and saw Scorpius' eyes full of tears right in front of him. Once again the boy touched the bruised side of Draco's face lightly. The older blond was sure he looked horrendous, so it was no surprise that his little boy was so upset. He smiled at his son gently in attempt to assure him that everything was going to be fine, but he suddenly doubted that the smile was anywhere near reassuring on a face like this.

"It'll heal," he promised quietly and embraced Scorpius, pressing him to his chest and holding him as tight as his hurt body allowed. "We'll be all right now..." he whispered. He felt his boy shaking his head in disagreement against his chest and Draco's heart clenched. "For how long have you been awake? You must be hungry," he said, changing the topic. He received another wordless 'no'. "Still tired?" This time he felt a nod. Scorpius definitely wasn't in the mood for saying anything at all, so Draco decided not to pester him any longer. He was secretly in panic, afraid that his son had retreated into himself irreversibly. Was it possible to bring him out of his shell this time? And if it was, would it be harder than after the orphanage? It hadn't even been fully achieved before the attack, probably had been far from it.

Scorpius had been sheltered in his Papa's embrace for more than an hour. Neither of them had said a word during this time, but then Draco heard some barely audible whisper that wasn't loud enough for him to understand.

"What did you say, darling?" he asked and brought his face closer to his boy's.

"I losted Gee-gee..." Scorpius whispered again, without looking back. Draco smiled sadly.

"That's all right, I'll buy you a new one. Would you like to have a gee-gee with wings again? Or with a horn? How about a one with a fish tail?" he asked. Maybe it was a chance to build up a conversation?

"All..." Scorpius murmured, once again hardly audible.

"All of them?" Draco asked. He felt his son's nod. "All right, all of them, then..." he agreed and in his thoughts he calculated how many cheap potions he would have to brew to make this little wish come true (of course, when he would be fit enough for brewing or for anything else at all, since even walking to the bathroom had proved to be a hard task). All right, it wasn't too expensive... And even if it was, he wanted his son to be happy, so it didn't matter if Draco would have to exhaust himself with work again. "Anything for you," he whispered and felt Scorpius pressing himself even harder against his chest. Draco tried his best not to let his son realise that he was crying mutely. His tears were soaking into the pillow, but he made sure he wasn't shaking with sobs. He felt like he'd ruined his son's childhood or probably his entire life. If it was true that childhood traumas affect a person's entire life then what would become of his boy's life in the future? _'I'm sorry, Scorpius... I've failed to keep you safe and happy. I've failed you...'_ Draco's hurt mind, his mental self wandered to the first floor and sneaked into the bathroom, the one that he'd used before. There, in one of the drawers, between the two folded towels, white and chequered blue, was a sharp object, the dagger that Draco had placed there, his little secret; something that could relieve his strain and clear his head. He wanted to get it immediately. But thinking about it, he felt even guiltier, so his mental self returned into the body that was lying in the bed with his child in his arms and was too weak and hurt to go anywhere yet.

The next time he woke up, Scorpius wasn't in his arms any longer, and Draco couldn't suppress a pang of uneasiness. But Harry was there, approaching his bed with a tray of food (it was probably the sound of the opening or closing door that had woken Draco up, even if it had been quiet).

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," Harry apologised. "Scorpius is with Al. I made him eat a little, though he wasn't very eager," he informed.

"Thanks..." Draco murmured quietly.

"You should eat something, too."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to keep it down."

"Try. It's just a soup, nothing heavy."

"Smells good..."

Draco managed to eat half of the soup and some bread (once he'd found more or less comfortable position for eating without hurting himself, and Harry had helped him with that as best as he could), but then he felt he shouldn't test himself with any more than that. The potions, mainly the pain-relieving potions that he felt he was starting to need desperately, were more than welcome after eating, however, they had ruined the pleasant taste of food in his mouth.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked when Draco had lain down and made himself as comfortable as possible.

"Better," the blond replied, though he sounded uncertain. But then he noticed some cuts on the back of Harry's hands. Some seemed deep, but they weren't bleeding at all, they were mostly skinned over and covered with greenish healing salve. Had Harry been injured at work again? It probably meant that Draco had slept for more time than he'd thought if Harry had had enough time to go to work and get himself hurt. "Perhaps, you should reconsider your choice of profession," Draco said, slightly raising his eyebrows.

"Why?" Harry asked in surprise, but then he noticed what Draco was looking at. "Oh, this... No, I haven't been at work after... It's Semiramis. She got drunk yesterday. At first she was talking some nonsense and giggling. She was walking around or crawling, or toppling over onto her sides sometimes; half-naked. And by naked I mean her... um... human-like parts," Harry said and chuckled completely humourlessly. He looked down at his chest, explaining the last sentence.

"Oh..." Draco blinked.

"And when I told her to go and get some sleep, and tried to help her to get to her room, she turned aggressive, scratched me and cursed me by the dozens names of the gods I've never even heard of. Merlin, she was drunk like a sailor, so I can only imagine the hangover she's being experiencing today. She hasn't even left her room yet. Not that I'm really in the mood to see her," Harry finished. Only now Draco really noticed that there were really scratches on his hands, caused by four sharp claws, not some cuts.

"I always knew she was mental," the blond snorted.

"I've never been so thoroughly cursed in so many ancient languages before," Harry grinned. It was said with such a mocking pride that Draco burst into quiet laughter, even though it sounded a little downhearted to Harry's ears; it sounded in a minor key. The blond embraced his own hurt body with both arms. Not enough time had passed for the pain-relieving potion to really ease his pain.

"Ooh... Stop making me laugh, it hurts," he begged.

"Sorry," Harry smiled sympathetically.

As much as he wanted to spend some more time with Draco, he had the children to look after, so he left to deal with Al's tantrum, because not only Scorpius had been no fun of late and Al was angry at him again, but he was also displeased with the amount of sweets he'd received today. Albus ended up being put in the 'naughty corner', while Harry demonstratively played table games for children with heartbreakingly taciturn and subdued Scorpius, who played rather reluctantly without much interest.

Even through his sleep Draco felt that he was being watched, so he woke up only to see Semiramis, sitting in the armchair next to his bed and staring at him. For some reason, he suspected that she'd used some kind of magic to drag him out of his slumber, albeit softly. At any rate, he didn't appreciate it.

"Ah, you're awake. Good..." She tried to sound almost cheerful and gave him a fake smile. It hardly looked sincere or pleasurable to look at, because her face was slightly puffy, her eyes were bloodshot and she looked unsteady even though she was sitting.

"What are you doing here?.." Draco frowned sleepily.

"There are no more hangover potions in this house. I thought you might probably brew me some," she declared. Oh, right... Selfish, as always. He could very well be on his deathbed and she would've still come to annoy him, because there was something _**she**_ needed, which was more important than anything else in the world. As much as he could be pretty egoistic himself, he was marvelling at her nerve, almost amused, though also irritated.

"As you can see, I'm not quite fit to brew anything right now... I'll probably collapse before reaching the potions lab."

"Oh, you're impossible, human," she scowled.

"Am I? They say you surpassed yourself yesterday. Was it absinthe again?" he teased, even though his voice was thick. She looked embarrassed.

"Not just absinthe. I added several drops of valerian tincture into my glass. Several times. Um... Many times. For you, humans, valerian is a light sedative, but for cats, big and small, it's similar to catmint. I usually add just a little bit of it to... to..." She looked thoughtful, trying to pick the right words.

"Um... To get stoned?" Draco said 'helpfully', his voice derisive.

"Yes, to get stoned!" the sphinx snapped, but winced at the pain that her exclamation had caused to her head that was splitting from the severe hangover. "Yesterday I added too much, so I hardly remember what I was doing. I just remember I felt... cheerful at first and then I got angry," she confessed, calmly this time. Draco shook his head. "What?" she scowled at his expression. "At least, it's legal! You, humans used to add opium to absinth in the same manner even when it has become anything but legal."

"Oh, please, no more history of your booze... I'm not brewing you anything. Perhaps, it'll teach you not to drink so much next time."

"My life had gone to the dogs, so I had every right to be upset... for an hour or two," she smirked lightly in the end.

"What happened this time?" Draco sighed. He knew it wasn't wise of him to start it, but he was bored and, despite his dizziness, he wasn't about to fall asleep any time soon.

"I'd been seducing one handsome man. We wrote letters and firecalled each other every single day. Everything was perfect, until he found out that I was a sphinx," she snorted.

"Wait a minute... You seduced a human? How could you fall so low?" Draco chuckled softly with evident sarcasm in his voice.

"It was hardly the first time," Semiramis waved off his derision with her paw. "He showered me with poetry and presents, a lot of them, including his invaluable family jewellery. I'd never sent him any photographs that showed anything lower than my upper chest, so he suspected nothing. He wanted to meet me in person so desperately that he was ready to give anything. And I like attention, and I like to be worshipped," she purred.

"And you also like jewels. You've fleeced him of his heirlooms."

"There's no need to be so dramatic, I know he's got so much more of those beautiful things. He's just found out who I am too soon, because of his curiosity and influence."

"You're such a fraud," Draco rolled his eyes. She snorted with annoyance, but then lowered her head and covered it with her paw for a moment, wincing slightly.

"Looks like you're feeling better now, human. How about brewing that potion now that you're not that ill?"

"I said, no. And I do not feel any better, just awake. Go away. Ask Harry to buy you that damned potion."

"Ah, so he's 'Harry' now?" she purred with a nasty, poisonous smirk.

"Semiramis. Don't," he said firmly and it was nothing but a warning. "Look... I'm hurt, I have a concussion, I can't take deep breaths, and, worst of all, I'm scared for my son; so I'm not in the mood for fooling around. Please, go away," he asked; almost nicely, but seriously.

"I'll leave you to your misery," she mocked dramatically, then frowned at him and left the room, shutting the door with her magic, loud enough to hurt Draco's head, as well as her own, to her dismay.

As she had left, Draco suddenly felt the acute need to have Harry here with him right now. There was even no particular necessity to talk to him. Draco just wanted his strong presence, because he felt weak and hurt, and because he was afraid that his thoughts about the sharp dagger, the one between the towels in the drawer in the bathroom on the first floor, would fully return and try to take him over. And the memories of the attack, of his helplessness and of all the pain inflicted on him, the memories of Scorpius, scared rigid in his arms, could easily assist those thoughts in their task.

* * *

**It's really long, because I didn't know where to stop :/**

**PLEASE, don't just read and run! REVIEW!**


	15. Not A Chapter, Sorry

**A/N: Hello, my dear readers!**

I'm sure I owe you an apology and an explanation for the unforgivably long delay, which is very unusual for me. The thing is that during my long business trip I've lost the USB flash drive where I stored most of my art and fanfiction (I guess it's somewhere in Norway right now, in the little, black leather bag that also contained my work DVDs and one more USB flash, nothing important, thank goodness). The worst thing about it is that this particular story had been almost done. And now it turns out that the entire progress I'd made since posting the last chapter has been lost.

I know it was entirely my fault, because I stored everything in one place, but it was pretty discouraging, anyway.

What I'm trying to say is that this story is definitely not abandoned, but I'm going to need time to come back to writing it, because mentally I was already prepared to write the other story (the long already written parts of which have also been lost, by the way), so there's a terrible mess in my head right now.

For now I'm going to start posting the other story, the only one sketched out and stored in my PC. It won't take too long to finish it. And after finishing posting that new story, I will come back to this one, because there will be more space in my head for it and I'll be able to remember at least most of those things that had been written and lost.

I'm truly sorry. Bad things happen...


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